Caring Is Not An Advantage
by YouLowerTheIQofTheWholeStreet
Summary: 'Myc… Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, with John by his side, he might even be a good one' -Teenlock, Johnlock, Mystrade Romance/Tragedy/Cutesyawesomeness
1. Chapter 1 - The Beginning

_Caring is not an advantage._

'Sherlock, come down' Mycroft said, knowing that despite his brother violently playing violin, he would hear him. Seconds later he heard a grumble, and the door slammed as his younger sibling slumped down the stairs, leading into the library.

'What Mycroft?' Sherlock moaned, obviously annoyed at being disrupted. He threw himself down onto one of the leather sofa's that adorned the room, and snuggled into it, avoiding looking at anything that might disturb his concentration that was now shifting through his mind mansion, sorting all the new details into good and bad memories.

Mycroft took a deep breath, and sighed. He knew this conversation wasn't going to go well, and to top it all off, Sherlock was in a bad mood.

'Sherlock…Our parents…' He couldn't bear to say it, but he knew he didn't have too.

Sherlock whipped around, his eyes wide. Mycroft saw, just for a millisecond, terror in his eyes, but he soon composed himself, and was back looking as he was just seconds before.

'How?' he asked, needing to know the facts.

'Car crash. Samuel, the new chauffeur, was at the wheel. Some incompetent person in a range rover decided it would be a good idea to drive after drowning himself in alcohol at the local pub.

Sherlock imagined the scene. The deaths would have been quick, he supposed.

Sherlock…' Mycroft continued, knowing this would be the hardest bit for him, despite the tragedy of the first part. 'I'm sending you off to Cardiff Sixth Form College' he then tried to continue over the unhidden gasp that had escaped from Sherlock. 'now don't worry, it has over 99% A & B pass grades for A Levels, and you know that you can't stay here, not when I go back to Cambridge. And you would be boarding anyway, so I need to know you are somewhere where I can keep an eye…'

At this point, he could no longer continue, as Sherlock shouted at the top of his voice

'NO!'

'Mycroft, I'm fine doing my experiments here in Holmes Manor. Mummy and Daddy were hardly around anyway, so it's not like it'll affect my work. Please don't make me go back to College! I know all that stuff, anyway. They're all so stupid!'

Mycroft had to agree with this. He had already had a meeting with the headmaster of the college, and he seemed like a talentless, incompetent idiot. But he couldn't admit this to Sherlock.

'Look, it's the best college in the country, I went there. And you're going, there's no question about that… now go and pack, I'm sending you a week early, because I need to prepare for University.'

Sherlock groaned at the lack of conversation and closed his eyes, sighing. His parents were dead, and he wouldn't be seeing Myc for months. Not that he did usually, anyway.

'Mycroft... what do we do now?' he sounded so childlike, so unsure, that Mycroft couldn't bear to turn and look at his brother. 'We wait and see, Sherlock. I'll deal with all of this, I promise. Remember, caring is not an advantage'. He slowly walked from the room, closing the door behind him.

Sherlock groaned at this, and curled into a ball, ignoring his brother's words. He knew how stressful the following week would be, and he knew that he wouldn't be sent to college early, as that would mean him missing the funeral, which he would not.

But oh, how college was useless. He had to talk to people. Had to have a roommate. _A roommate_


	2. Chapter 2 - Nerves

Chapter 2

Sherlock was on his way to the college, in the back seat of a shiny, black car. Mycroft was avoiding looking at him, but he didn't care too much, they hardly talked anyway.

The funeral had gone to plan, relatively.

Mycroft had had to restrain Sherlock from jumping on to the coffins, providing well-rehearsed reasons on why he should perform another autopsy on his parents before they were buried.

They hadn't spoken a word to each other since then.

As they pulled into the drive, Mycroft quickly signalled to the driver to lock the doors, and he turned to face his younger brother.

With no other option, Sherlock looked back, glaring. 'What, Mycroft?' he spat, trying to unlock the passenger door.

'I'll send a car during each long break, to bring you to Holmes Manor. Call me if you need anything'

Sherlock groaned at this, the last thing he wanted to do during his holidays was to be locked up in the house with Myc. 'fine. But what would I need from you?' he asked, finally unlocking the door. 'Enjoy your eighth degree at Cambridge, and don't eat too much cake, dear brother.'

He leaped out of the car, and ignored the muffled noises that were being shouted back in response, and confidently walked towards the large building, avoiding looking back.

Mycroft sighed, and turned to address the driver. 'Central London please'

He looked back and saw what he hoped he wouldn't. Sherlock's guard down, his fake confidence shrouded in nerves as he slowly walked into the entrance.


	3. Chapter 3 - Afghanistan or Iraq?

John walked up to the dorm room assigned to him.

221

Annoyingly, the college had moved him into the last room on the top floor, not caring that his leg may affect his capability to get there. After his father died fighting for his country in Afghanistan, John had developed a psychosomatic limp which seemed to be a strong emotional response to what had happened.

He was regretting all that happened last year. He had to retake and so had probably been moved into a room with an annoying, horny first-year.

He knocked at the door of his new room, seeing a handmade 'do not disturb' sign taped across the wood, and sighed. Someone was making themselves at home.

The door opened almost instantly, his thought being interrupted. A flushed angry face greeted him.

'John Watson?' he demanded, and John responded with a nod, distracted by the chaos he could see in front of him.

The tall, hypnotic boy noticed this, and whipped around shoving pieces of paper and test tubes into various draws, cracks and crevices.

'I…forgot about room share. Your room is to the left, as I need the right to monitor the perfect breeding conditions for my experiments'.

'Breeding?!' John gasped, realising that under the havoc was his bed, his private space.

'Hang on, you're not using my room for your experiment's, use your own!'

'But I need the space. You'll be fine. I won't interrupt many activities of yours'

John sighed, surprising himself at how defeated and worn he already felt.

John then remembered they hadn't actually been introduced, at least, not properly. 'And you are?' he tried, sighing again when he got a small glare in response before 'Sherlock Holmes. I'd shake your hand but I can see from here you won't move from the door frame, you're leaning on it for support due to your psychosomatic limp. And you're older than me, I see, yet you've been roomed with me, implying you're doing your first's again…but you're not a complete idiot and you were targeted… what A's and B's? So why are you here?' Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he hushed John when he tried to speak.

'Something tragic happened and you were distracted, missed exams, yes?'

John nodded, closing his eyes.

'Something family related or you wouldn't have developed your limp – it's an emotional response so must be in turn to something you were expecting to happen, so not a death of a sibling due to his drinking habit' John's eyes widened at this, and before he could question it, he got a response. 'Oh, John' Sherlock sighed, exasperated. 'You have ''Call Harry'' scribbled on your right arm. You aren't left handed so it must've been someone else who wrote it. The writing is shaky, so an alcoholic or an elderly person, perhaps. Not a one night stand, or they would've left a number. Not a boyfriend, as you wouldn't forget him, not at your age. An elderly person is more likely to write a note, not on your arm – completely unhygienic, by the way – so it must be a sibling, Harry, so a brother.

John gasped, and after a couple of minutes he nodded, pushing Sherlock to continue.

'So it's not your brother or your mother. She died a while ago in her sleep, yes? So it must be your dad. You obviously didn't see him often – you don't have any recognisable gifts from him so he was probably a soldier – only had a limited postage allowance. You weren't as surprised as you thought you would be when you found out he'd died. So it's obvious you always expected it.

Mr Watson, Died in action. I'm sorry' Sherlock added, backing up to let John catch his breath.

'Harry is now Harriet' John whispered, opening his eyes.

'YOUR SISTER? THAT'S CHEATING!' Sherlock moaned, annoyed he didn't get everything right.

'Oh Afghanistan, or Iraq?'


	4. Chapter 4 - You'll kill him

Sherlock had attached himself like a limpet to John since their first meeting. – He was a listener, not a speaker, and he appreciated how talented his friend was. As Sherlock put it, most people just said 'piss off' in response to his rants. Not John.

The first word he spoke when he had fully recovered happened to be 'incredible'

Their lessons happened to be almost the same; except John was taking Biology, and Sherlock, Further Psychology – it was something to take up some time.

Study periods were spent doing the opposite – in John's room/ Sherlock's lab. John sat and listened to Sherlock's conversations over how his tutor was incompetent, and his lessons must've been prepared for primary school children. He listened to his friend play the violin beautifully – his fine, thin fingers holding the bow with such extravagance, no one could compare.

More often than not, John would find himself skipping lessons to go to town, or just to see Sherlock, whether it be to talk of how much milk would be needed for the next experiment, or just to sit, in silence. Not awkward silence that you see in films, comfortable silence.

Meal times consisted of forcing Sherlock to eat, or bringing something back for him if he was already knee deep in an experiment.

John headed towards room 64, Sherlock's Maths room. He found him standing outside, analysing a tall, strong boy, maybe a year or two older, but 3 or 4 times the width. He was being forced into the locker by this boy, but his detailed examination didn't trail off. John's rage for his friend began to build.

Finally, Sherlock managed to push the limit.

'…and you're obvious usage of the word ''poof'' and the slight bend in your index and ring fingers show you are as straight as a clothes hange…' he was cut off with a sharp blow to the face.

He closed his eyes, expecting another hit. He opened them when it didn't come.

John was pressing the boy to the ground, his whole weight needed purely so he wasn't thrown off.

He was slamming the now limp head into the ground with such force that he had passed out within seconds.

Sherlock reacted almost immediately, more worried for the consequences if his roommate got caught in the act. He pushed through the small crowd that had gathered around the two squirming bodies.

'John' he shouted, trying and failing to pull his friend from the floor. 'John stop, you'll kill him!' John stopped and looked at Sherlock, then looked at the still body beneath him.

His eyes widened, the horror of what he had been minutes from doing, flooding into his face.

As they both stood up and turned to run, a wide body stopped them in their tracks.

'With me, you two.'


	5. Chapter 5 - Mycroft

Mycroft.

"Get in the car, "- The cashpoint screen flashed. His first time trying his debit card, and _this_ happened. As he looked around, a black limo pulled up. 'Not bothered about discretion, then' John thought, but as he watched the security cameras follow him as he stepped down into the car, he presumed being discrete didn't matter if you had the ability to hack into everything.

His first thought was Sherlock; how he would react if whoever it was, killed him. He'd probably shout at John and tell him off for dying, and then ask to perform the autopsy.

Guilt flooded over him when he remembered Harry. He'd thought of his best friend before his only sibling – he made a mental note to give her a call, if he got out alive, that is.

They soon pulled up to what looked like a deserted warehouse. 'Definitely gonna be killed' John thought, surprising himself at how calm he was. A woman who had been sitting in the front passenger seat waited, texting, as he slowly lifted himself out of the vehicle. 'Follow me' she said confidently, quickly walking into the building, and up the steep, dusty steps.

As he entered the nearest room, he found himself standing in an empty, white room, face to face with a tall, intelligent-looking man – he looked around the age of 30, but due to the lack of wrinkles and dark hair colour, John guessed he was in his early twenties.

"Welcome, ." he said, his clever looks matching with his clearly distinct upper-class voice.

"Welcome?" John thought. "Not gonna die today then" – he had to suppress a feeling that he had seen this man before. Had he?

"I don't frequent disused warehouses, I promise! The man spoke, only just covering a smirk.

"What do you want?" John whispered, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

"Sherlock Holmes" the man quipped, his eyes narrowing at the name.

There was a pause before "…wait, what?" John questioned. "I mean, are you sure? I think you'd regret it"

A chuckle erupted from the mysterious gentleman. "I know exactly how he is… what he is like...and so do you, apparently. No no no, I don't want him, I want _you_ to give me details; nothing personal"

"Who are you?" John asked, he couldn't keep the idea that he recognised him out of his mind.

"Mycroft Holmes. Pleasure to meet _me_, I'm sure."

John couldn't stop the gasp that escaped from between his lips. 'You're a…a Holmes?! There's more than one?... That makes an unusual amount of sense."

Mycroft smiled at this, waiting for the next expected question.

'Why get me to give you details, if he's your brother?"

He sighed, rolling his eyes. 'You know Sherlock, do you really expect him to tell me anything that I need to know?". John considered "I suppose not" he decided, holding his head in his hands. This was mad.

"I'm in Cambridge, most of the time. I need someone closer. I can give you money, I know you need it."

"No" John replied automatically, not even taking a second to consider what he might have been offered. "I don't want money to spy on your brother. I assume you don't want me to tell him. I won't agree to that, but I will tell you basics that anyone would know. I can imagine he's a pain at the worst of times"

Mycroft's smile disappeared, the truth in the statement overwhelming him. "I didn't name a price, but I presumed that you would be inclined to stay loyal to my little brother. And you assumed correctly, however on your head be it if you choose to tell him, that is all for the moment. Anthea will get the driver to take you back to college – enjoy your week."

"Fine" John replied, turning away and resisting looking back.

The moment he was back in the car, he dialled the number and pressed the phone to his ear. "Sherlock? Should I be scared of your brother?" he asked, fidgeting with a square of leather that was sticking from one of the seats.

"Of course" Sherlock, to John's surprise, calmly replied.

"He's the most dangerous man you'll ever meet, and not my problem right now" he continued, then hung up, slamming the phone with such force it almost broke.

Seconds later Sherlock was dialling a number. "Mycroft, you idiot!"


	6. Chapter 6 - Gregory

John and Sherlock had been room-mates in college for 6 months now, and since the abrupt meeting with Mycroft, things have only got more… heated.

John spends all his lessons and free time with Sherlock, finding him more help than the tutors.

They had both avoided being excluded due to Mycroft's continued financial support, which happened to benefit both of them.

Their next venture was the holidays. John was planning on skipping a visit home to stay with Sherlock.

…

Holmes Manor – 2 weeks until the first long break.

'I'm not a babysitter, Myc' Greg groaned, rolling his eyes.

'And Sherlock isn't a baby' he chuckled back, looking into his lover's eyes.

'He's _much_ worse'.

Greg noticed Mycroft's waistcoat was undone, and his tie loosened, revealing the top button undone. That was as comfortable Mycroft got in clothing. God forbid anyone but Greg who dared to wear tracksuit bottoms in his home.

'But…surely it'd be better if we were introduced _gradually_?'

'Yes, Gregory. But seeing as you live in Holmes Manor now, and he and John are coming down in two weeks, I think we're a bit past gradual, don't you? I don't think could keep quiet about us for the whole three weeks, anyway.'

Greg sighed, knowing it was going nowhere, and admitted defeat. 'Fine'.

He went to lean in to the tall man for a kiss, but was interrupted by the national anthem.

'What the – 'he started, but was cut off. 'No need for swears, darling' Mycroft said, fishing in his waistcoat pocked for his mobile.

'Work?' Greg asked, rolling away slightly on the bed.

'Work' Mycroft agreed, taking a deep breath, and answering the call.

'Yes Prime Minister. Safe passage for members of the U.S embassy? Of course, I'll place it on code Cyan: 2213. Yes, all in order. Thank you, have a successful day.' He finished, and as he ended the call, he caught Greg's stare. 'What?' he said, distracted as he texted Anthea the news.

'Why would the PM call you, personally?!' he asked, amazed.

'Oh, little do you know Gregory, little do you know'


	7. Chapter 7 - Breaks

Breaks

Sherlock couldn't stop fidgeting.

John was coming to stay at his for three weeks! He had texted to make sure everything was right for when they arrived, and although he couldn't stop Mycroft from meeting them there; he planned to show John around the nearby village, which would coincidently avoid any of the expected confrontations about college attendance.

He hadn't stopped talking throughout the four hour car journey, and John found himself getting incredibly excited. He had never done anything like this before.

As John found that they were pulling into a long, winding driveway, he couldn't stop himself gawping at the sight before him 'You weren't joking about it being Holmes _manor_, were you?' he said, finally closing his mouth.

'Of course not' Sherlock replied, slightly embarrassed by the extravagance of his home. 'I never joke'.

As they stepped out of the car, Mycroft Holmes appeared, smiling, his eyes only slightly glassy and distracted.

'Welcome, Sherlock, John' he said, raising his arms.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and folded his arms, and after a few seconds, John decided to speak. 'Hello, . Thank you for allowing me to stay'.

'Call me Mycroft, please. Not at all, not at all'.

At this point, Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he walked to the left slightly to see if he could view behind the half open door. 'Why are you being nice, Mycroft?'

Mycroft groaned at this, and turned around to reach for something, a man shuffled out of the house, eyes to the ground.

'This is Greg, Sherlock. I'm sure I don't have to describe the circumstances to you, do I?'

'Obviously not. And he's a detective inspector, excellent. He will come in handy. Come, John' he beckoned, pushing through the men to get into the mansion.

John trotted behind, flashing an apologetic smile towards Greg.

'Sherlock, why were you so rude?' John asked, sighing.

'I wasn't, it is his fault he didn't consult me before he let him live in our house.'

John supressed a chuckle, avoiding mocking his friend's immaturity.

'Your brother is a grown man. He doesn't have to ask your permission. You should apologise'.

Sherlock groaned, and pouted, but when this had no effect, he stood up and ran downstairs, leaving John in the corridor. He heard a shout 'MYC, GREGORY, SORRY! – JOHN TOLD ME TO, ALTHOUGH I PROBABLY SHOULDN'T HAVE TOLD YOU THAT'.

Sherlock ran back upstairs and looked at John expectantly.

'Good enough for now, well done' John whispered, grinning.

Mycroft hadn't moved. He and Greg stood next to each other, paralysed with shock. 'Did Sherlock just apologise because John told him to? I thought you said he didn't listen to anyone'. Greg questioned, looking around, surprised.

'He doesn't. Apologising means admitting defeat. He'd never do that. Unless Sherlock's chosen'.

'Chosen what?' Greg asked.

'The one'.


	8. Chapter 8 - James

'Come on, John!' Sherlock shouted, his flustered, excited face only just noticeable across the field.

John had no idea where they were going, but Sherlock had received a call, and without explaining, he'd dropped his suitcase which he was unpacking at the time, and ran out of the house, only stopping to shout for his friend to follow.

When John finally caught up, he found Sherlock sitting by a younger boy, who he was telling to go home. The boy was scruffy, and he looked like he hadn't washed for days. 'Just go, James. I'll look after him, just go. Take this for your mother'. Sherlock handed the boy a £20 note.

The boy finally stood up, and handed the tiny rabbit to Sherlock. He took one last, longing look, smiled a deep, yellow toothed grin at the two boys, and finished with 'Cheers, Sherlock. Ma will be 'appy.' And he sped off into the distance, at a speed which didn't seem possible.

John sat next to Sherlock and the sleeping rabbit, and waited for an explanation.

'That's James. His family is homeless, I help him along sometimes. I'm beginning to set up the homeless network. I scratch their backs, and they scratch mine. Then I disinfect myself, of course'.

John grinned at this, seeing the flicker or adoration in Sherlock's eyes as he stroked the tiny animal.

'So, why do you have a rabbit?' John asked.

'James found him, and he's unwell, I promised I would treat him, and then return him to the wild.'

'Wait this is what we ran for? A rabbit?' John questioned, his smile broadening.

There was no response, but he saw Sherlock's lips turn into a small smile, before returning into its normal, icy posture.

'How do you know he won't just spend that £20 on something before he gets back?'

Sherlock paused, ruffling his hair with his right hand. 'His sister, Lucy, is dying. I'll find a treatment, but at the moment… I can't do anything but help them get her food and water' Sherlock sighed at this, and avoided eye contact with John.

'That's… incredible, Sherlock. I didn't think you would care that much, but surely if there hasn't been a found treatment, it's a long shot that you'll find it?' John asked, frowning.

Sherlock stood up, and straightened his clothes and kept a tight hold on the rabbit. 'Let's go home, John.' He whispered, pulling his friend up.

They walked in silence for ten minutes, until John couldn't handle it any longer.

'Sherlock… thank you for letting me see another side of you, I'm so grateful.' He said, slowing to a stop.

He reached towards Sherlock, and stroked a fine strand of dark hair to the side. He cupped his chin and raised it down, standing on tiptoes and reaching towards his face.

Sherlock leaned in, his mind blank, no idea how this could be happening.

John brushed his lips against Sherlock's and they both poorly attempted to supress a moan.

John violently shoved his lips into Sherlock's, slowly working his mouth open. His partner complied, breathing heavily, and only began to pull back when he needed to breath and didn't want to do it into John's mouth.

He shook his head. Was this a dream?

John's eyes widened at what he had just done, and he looked at the unhidden fear in Sherlock's eyes.

'What. The. Fuck'


	9. Chapter 9 - Better Out Than In

Better out than in.

The moment they got back to Holmes Manor, Sherlock ran upstairs and straight into his room, slamming the door. John was left in the corridor, speechless. They needed to talk about what happened, not hide from it. And what the hell was he supposed to do in a random house?

In answer to his thoughts, Mycroft introduced his presence with a cough. He was leaning on the door frame, looking quite amused. John stopped himself frowning. What did _he_ have to smile about?

'Come, John. He will not be gracing you with his presence tonight. It's far too early for sleeping during a holiday, don't you think?' John felt he should nod, but was suddenly aware of how tired he really was. 'Good, good. I have work to do, but Gregory's watching some new WikiLeaks film, you may find that you'd enjoy it'.

John nodded, and walked past Mycroft into the room. It was huge, with ornate decorations and large, dark leather sofas. Greg motioned for him to come and sit down, but didn't speak, obviously engrossed in the film, despite it only being running for a couple of minutes.

'You falling for him?' Greg questioned, his eyes not leaving the screen.

'What?!' John asked, shocked at how easy to read he must be.

Greg, obviously understanding his thoughts, chuckled. 'Oh, no. Mycroft has cameras everywhere, mate. He wasn't going to let you two go out completely alone.'

He was quiet for a moment, before continuing.

'So you are falling for him, then? Sherlock?' he whispered, still mesmerised by the man with white hair prancing around the television screen.

John didn't say anything, but began to think.

Was he falling for his best friend?

They relied on each other so heavily now. Sherlock refused point blank to make any other friends at college, and John had found that others were more unfriendly towards him due to the lack of time he spent with them. He didn't particularly care, but it meant when they had an argument, they each found they had nothing to do. They acted a bit like an old married couple.

'I don't know...' John shrugged, trying to be casual, but the crack in his voice, betrayed him.

Greg pulled him into a hug, and whispered 'It's not easy falling for a Holmes, and once you're in, there's no escape...

But the ride's incredible. And you'll never get a second chance if you choose wrong'.

'I feel like I love him' John said more loudly, gaining confidence.

He was about to continue, when he heard a scuffle. He turned round and saw the ends of Sherlock's scarf trail out of the open doorway.

'Shit' John said, burrowing into the comfy sofa, hiding his face.

'Better out than in, I suppose' Greg laughed, not making the situation any better.

'Go on' he pushed, nudging John from the sofa.

'Talk to him.'


	10. Chapter 10 - I Promise

'Sherlock?' John whispered, as he knocked on the closed door to his friend's room.

When there was no response, he knocked again, more briskly. 'Sherlock?'

He heard a sigh, and something shuffling around inside.

'Come in' Sherlock said, a tiny voice compared to his usual tone.

John twisted the handle and found it unlocked. He slowly opened the door, and found his best friend curled up in a ball on the double bed in the middle of the room. Sleeping next to him was the ill rabbit, a thermometer and a bandage proving that Sherlock had been checking on how he was progressing so far.

'How is he?' John asked, positioning himself on the edge of the bed, and stroking the little ball of fluff.

'Won't make it through the night' came the response, and a big sigh was what resulted. 'Nothing I can do.'

John paused, stroking his hand through his hair.

'Sherlock, I know I was a bit forward, but I don't want our friendship to be ruined, and we can forget all about it, I won't bring it up or act on it ever again, can we just go back to normal?'

Sherlock rolled over, meeting John's gaze.

'No. It wouldn't ever go back to normal.' He said, his eyes almost brimming with tears. 'It's my fault, we kissed and now you want to go back but we can't. It won't ever be the same. And now we're here, and you'll leave me, and then I'll be alone again.' Sherlock shouted, now forcefully wiping his tear stained face.

John stood, and cupped his friends face with both of his hands. 'Sherlock' he said, seriously. 'I don't want to go back, I thought you did. I don't want it to be the same. It will be better, I swear. And I will never, ever leave you, okay? And I won't break that promise till the day I die.'

Sherlock stood, staring at John.

He slowly leant forward, and pressed his lips against John's, more urgently than the last time.

John responded in full, slowly opening his mouth to allow entrance for Sherlock's investigating tongue.

Sherlock could taste tea and biscuits on John, and it made him feel even more at home. He slowly pushed him onto the bed, and sat down next to him, making sure they were both comfortable.

Sherlock's lips travelled from John's of their own accord, to his neck. John didn't attempt to supress a moan, and Sherlock couldn't help but smile that it was him that had made him produce that noise.

He did it again with more force, trying to leave a mark. John realised what he was doing far too late.

'Shit, Sherlock!' he groaned, looking in the nearby mirror at the fresh red marks that were already bruising on his neck. 'We're going back to college soon, and you know the uniforms don't hide that much!' he rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed, sighing.

Sherlock smirked. 'Exactly' he said. 'You're _mine_, and everyone needs to know it'.

John gasped at how upfront Sherlock was, and how quickly everything was happening. Two kisses, and they were now 'each other's', apparently.

Sherlock saw the hesitance in his eyes, and backed up a bit, allowing John to breathe. 'I mean, if you want to, sorry, I didn't mean too… I can just…' John stopped his words with a kiss.

'Just give me a minute okay? I knew this was never going to be slow or simple, so just give me a second to get my head around it, I'm not rejecting you, before you make that deduction' John finished, smiling.

Before either of them could speak again, a bell rang and a shout from downstairs was heard 'DINNER MR HOLMES, MR LESTRADE, SHERLOCK, JOHN!' Mrs. Hudson shouted, before retreating back to her study.

'why they get to be mister's and we don't, beats me' John chuckled, pulling his friend up from the bed before giving him a quick final kiss, and exiting the room to make their way down the winding stairs.

'Let's not tell your brother or Greg today, yeah?' John asked.

'Oh, John. You know as well as I that Greg sent you to talk to me, and Myc can tell what we have been doing for the last few minutes from a mile away, but don't worry too much, he won't have the nerve to say anything straight away' Sherlock replied, grinning.

They entered the dining room, to find Greg and Mycroft in deep conversation on the far end of the table. As John and Sherlock walked in, they raised their heads, halting what they were saying.

John nervously smiled, and Sherlock scowled, throwing himself onto the nearest chair.

Greg's smile didn't falter, and he was about to continue the talk when he noticed Mycroft's expression. His eyebrows were raised and he was staring at Sherlock, who had decided to wipe his lips on the back of his sleeve a few times.

He could feel his lover tensing and he knew exactly why.

John and Sherlock had just walked in like two naughty schoolboys being caught in the act, and Myc was killing himself trying not to make a sarcastic comment, or just burst out laughing.

Greg found himself staring at the obvious signs, and when the food was finally bought in, you could cut the tension with a knife.

Mycroft couldn't control himself any longer. He knew that Sherlock had chosen John for some purpose, if only subconsciously. He didn't think he would have actually chosen him to be his lover.

'Not engaged yet then, boys?' he chuckled, winking at John.

'I hate you' Sherlock replied, as John blushed, and slammed his head and arms down onto the table in response to hide his uncontainable grin.


	11. Chapter 11 - To College

To college.

- **Please Review – I hope you enjoy this chapter – I'm not totally happy with it, but I'm liking where it may/may not be going**** ;) – **

Since Sherlock and John had 'got together', life had been reasonably quiet… if anything related to Sherlock could really be considered 'quiet'.

To the outside world, Sherlock was asexual, unromantic and icy. To John, and, he supposed, Mycroft and Greg, he liked nothing better than snuggling and cuddling. For him it was like having a new big cardigan covered hot water bottle.

It was their last day at Holmes Manor, and Greg and Mycroft found all of the recent occurrences incredibly amusing.

When Sherlock wasn't tired, he would peel himself from John when they entered the room, and shout enough abuse to put off the hardiest of men. Sometimes John could calm him, usually resulting in a pout and 'fine, but Mycroft is an idiot'. However, when he was tired, he would attach more so to John, if it were humanly possible, stick a middle finger up at whomever had entered the room, and mumble 'piss off' before hiding his face in whatever was available – usually the crook of John's arm, or his chest.

The last day was difficult. In three weeks, John had fallen into a routine that was nice, comfortable. Almost 24 hours were spent by Sherlock's side, and he knew that would change when they returned to college. Sherlock had evidently sussed that out as well.

It's not as if he felt he _needed_ John, but he couldn't imagine spending time _without_ him. He didn't _want_ to, so why should he?

He avoided John in the morning – mumbling something about an experiment and running out of the house before dawn broke.

John sighed when he woke up, ruffling his hair. He headed downstairs to the dining room, where Mycroft was sitting, reading a newspaper, and sipping a black coffee. 'Morning, John' he said, in a fake, cheerful voice.

'g'morning' John replied, yawning.

'It seems Sherlock doesn't think he is ready to adjust back to college life' Mycroft continued, not raising his eyes from his paper.

'He's surprisingly…clingy' John said, wincing at the obvious but awkward reveal of not-so-private information.

'Of course he is, he's been waiting 17 years for someone who would allow him to be clingy without judging. However, if you are not comfo-'

'I am' John interrupted, before he could finish. 'It's nice. I didn't think he would want…intimacy, but he's quite the opposite of what I expected.' At this point and before Mycroft could respond, they heard the front door open and slam shut, and someone plodding up the stairs.

'I'd better go and talk to him' John sighed, excusing himself, and leaving the room.

He slowly wandered towards Sherlock's room, composing himself.

'Sherlock?' John said, knocking on the bedroom door. He didn't wait for a response, instead opening it and walking in. 'hello' he tried, aiming it at the body that was hunched over the desk at the opposite side of the room. 'Mm' he got in response, which was the only implication that he had been heard.

John slowly edged towards Sherlock, trying to read his emotions.

'YES!' Sherlock cried, throwing his hands in the air, and leaping up. John looked at him in surprise, waiting for an explanation. He wasn't disappointed. 'Greg wants me to help with a murder case in his division at Scotland Yard, during college!'

John smiled at this, knowing it would be incredibly helpful for both parties. 'That's great. Maybe you could get a job there in a couple of years?'

'Of course not' Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. 'I'm going to be a consulting detective – only one in the world – I invented the job'.

He looked so proud of himself, John couldn't help but envelope him in a tight hug. 'I won't even ask what that is at the moment' he chuckled, stroking the long black hair.

'I'm just glad you're happy'.

Sherlock pulled away, and looked straight into John's eyes. 'You know why Greg's doing this?' John shook his head. 'So I'm distracted when you're not with me at college'.

'Oh' John said, it seemed obvious now. 'You'll be fine' he replied, more of a suggestion than anything else.

'Come on, let's pack' he finished, pulling their empty suitcases into the room.

'Yes good idea' Sherlock replied, flinging himself onto the arm chair, and looking at John expectantly.

'You're fucking kidding' John said, shaking his head.

'Not happening, Sherlock' he said, and he heaved him out of the chair. 'Enjoy' he grinned, giving him a quick kiss, and leaving him on his own to pack.

Sherlock sighed, picked up the mountain of clothes that had been hurled into the corner of his room, and shoved them all into the small case, zipping it up,

'DONE!' he shouted, waiting for a response.

'HAVE A MEDAL!' John replied, chuckling.

They dragged their suitcases down the steep stairs, and into the car waiting for them. Sherlock said goodbye to Mycroft by shoving past him, 'always a pleasure, Myc'.

Shockingly, he ran up to Greg, almost preparing himself for a hug, but containing it all at the last moment 'goodbye, Lestrade, I will text you details soon'. He shook his hand, and then hopped into the car.

'Thank you for letting me into your home, Mycroft' John said, honestly incredibly grateful.

'My pleasure, John' he replied. 'You are always welcome'. – He seemed sincere, but one could never tell with the 'iceman'.

He gave Greg a quick hug and a thank you for his guidance and then he too jumped into the car.

'Jesus' was all Greg and Mycroft could say to the relatively friendly farewells.

was dramatically waving a sodden tissue out of one of the third floor windows, and the left car window was put down long enough for Sherlock and John to wave her goodbye.

'To college, Master Sherlock?' The driver asked, looking at the couple in the rear view mirror.

John and Sherlock glanced at each other simultaneously and nodded.

'To college' they both replied decisively.


	12. Chapter 12 - Drugs

**6 Months Later **

**Okay guys, so this story is going to change a bit, don't worry just yet. **

**This is set 6 months after the last chapter. **

**They are still at college when this is set, and they are still 'in a relationship' although nothing has really progressed.**

**I'm adding a trigger warning thing here, because if cancer related things are going to upset you further than this fanfic goes, skip the next 3 ish chapter, or don't read further. But if you're ok, read ahead!:)**

**Enjoy. – please review!**

'I don't feel too good, John.' Sherlock decided to state the obvious as he was pushed and pulled into the ambulance awaiting them outside of the college. 'You'll be fine, it'll just be flu', John reassured, and Sherlock responded by not replying, only raising his eyebrows at the obvious attempt at a lie.

Sherlock had been rapidly deteriorating the past couple of weeks to the point where he had allowed John to ring his brother and the hospital.

Mycroft had already been informed, and was waiting for them in the ward when they arrived. Sherlock was taken through for an X-Ray and possible surgery, and he and John were left alone.

'John' he greeted solemnly. He only nodded in response.

'The doctors say it might be…cancer. This x-ray is necessary, it will show us what's going on. I'm paying them double what's usual to get the results twice as fast.'

John hadn't even considered cancer. Sherlock seemed so _young_.

'There isn't an age range for it, John' Mycroft continued, seemingly reading his mind. 'Yes, thank you' John replied, rolling his eyes.

Mycroft and John settled down into the rubbery blue armchairs in the waiting room, and the hours that past felt like days.

You couldn't get comfortable in the waiting room. Each wall was painted a different bright colour; red, orange, yellow, green. It was blinding and a bit unsettling. There was a large TV playing children's nursery rhymes at the far end, and it was put up to the highest it could on the sound setting.

A child was sitting in the corner of the room, hunched into a ball on a chair. As John watched him, he looked up from his book and smiled. He had no hair, clearly from chemo, and his skin was gaunt and pale. He looked as if he could just…break.

Yet he seemed to be in a better mood than John was. He told himself to pull it together.

Mycroft was clearly in no mood to talk, and he was shifting between getting coffee and texting. Not the most appreciated company in this situation.

Finally, after 6 hours of waiting, a doctor came out of the white room, wringing his hands. 'Mr…Holmes, I presume?' he asked, looking up at Mycroft expectantly. 'Shall we have a chat in private?' he whispered, purposely glancing towards John.

Before John could stand up and attempt to push this comment, Mycroft help up his hand for him to stop, and whispered in his ear 'leave this to me, John'.

'Dr…?' Mycroft started, pressing for a name. 'Oh' the doctor replied, remembering that they hadn't actually been properly introduced. 'Dimmock' 'Dr. Dimmock, _sir_' he added, regretting doing so almost immediately.

'Okay, Dr Dimmock. This is John Watson' he pointed. 'He will hear _everything_ you say to me, and he will be placed under the close relatives list – all allowances to see Sherlock provided for. I don't believe I have to remind you how much…help the Holmes family gives to this hospital.'

Dr Dimmock had given up with a small sigh of protest, and was now looking thoroughly worried and distracted. 'Of course, of course, Mr Holmes, Mr Watson'. John had to supress an unsuitable chuckle, and Mycroft noticed and shot him a quick wink, before resuming his previous solemn facial expression. They continued with the previous, more important conversation.

'We believe your brother has Hodgkin Lymphoma. We have removed an enlarged lymph node, and the exact details will be back in a few hours. He is now in recovery. We did this after the X-Ray, as we believe time is incredibly important. Please remember that Hodgkin Lymphoma is often very successfully treated through Chemotherapy. Although we are not sure yet, we believe that Sherlock is now at Stage 3B. This is still very treatable, you may now go through and see him. Chemotherapy will begin tomorrow morning if all is correct and in order'.

'Wait. Side effects?' John asked, cutting over Mycroft's similar question.

'For the chemo? Some. He will have a lowered resistance to infections, he could become anaemic, there is sometimes bruising and bleeding, the obvious hair loss, vomiting, tiredness and some mouth ulcers. Many of these don't happen for our patients, but they are side effects that could occur to him.

'We need to talk to Sherlock' Mycroft ordered, pushing past and opening the door. It led to a ward, and there was a private room at the end, a small white card on the closed door 'S HOLMES'

John took a deep breath and as he was about to enter, Mycroft restrained him, pulling him back. 'I'll be in soon, alright? I need to update Greg'. John nodded, knowing how worried he would be if he was waiting for information.

John stepped inside the large room on his own. There was a single white bed in the centre of the room, various drips and machines huddled around it, and on top of the sheets, lay Sherlock. He was huddled into a ball, as much as the wires and cords attached to him would allow him to, and he didn't move for a few seconds, until John stepped closer.

'John' he muttered, not uncurling, but reaching out a hand in his direction, coaxing him to come closer. 'They took a thing out of me. They think I've got Hodgkin Lymphoma. Quite progressive too.'

John knew all this and didn't want to start a debate with Sherlock over what the percentage of survival would be, so he closed his eyes and attempted to distract him.

'Shut up' John said, brushing his lips against Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned contentedly at the intimacy, then leaned back, his eyes narrowing. 'Mycroft?' he asked, no need for elaboration.

'In the hall, calling Greg' John replied, moving to sit down on the armchair by the bed.

'Ah' Sherlock said, his eyes lighting up. 'I need to talk to Greg about the case, I think I've finally sorted it!' he said, swinging one leg from the bed, in order to try and stand up.

'Absolutely not' John finished firmly, pushing him back down onto the bed.

He was surprised by Sherlock's lack of wanting to talk about what was happening. But he didn't, so they talked of other things. What they would do while he stayed here. When they could go and eat. Everything but cancer.

Mycroft finally walked into the room, and he walked towards Sherlock quite calmly, now texting.

'Sherlock' he greeted, looking up to meet the eyes of his brother.

'Myc' Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes upwards.

'You should have told me that you had symptoms before. I could have got you here a week or two ago' Mycroft sighed, desperation unhidden in his eyes.

'Oh shut up, Myc' Sherlock sighed, rolling over, his back to his brother.

John thought this through. Sherlock hadn't mentioned having symptoms.

'You didn't tell me you had symptoms, Sherlock' he said quietly.

'Of course he didn't, John. However he clearly did because he admitted it to the doctor, leading to the assumption of Stage 3B, not stage 3A.'

'Oh' John replied, ruffling his hair. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'Because I was busy and so were you. I'm fine, anyway'. Sherlock replied, rolling back to face John.

'YOU'RE NOT FINE SHERLOCK. YOU HAVE CANCER!' John shouted, as he threw himself out of the chair, and out through the doors into the hallway.

Sherlock sat himself up, and wondered what to do. He couldn't just stay and let John leave. He looked expectantly at Mycroft, who looked a tiny bit amused by the dramatic scene.

Before Mycroft could argue, he handed his mobile over, and Sherlock quickly found John's number on his brother's phone.

Come back – SH

He texted, and when a response didn't come, he texted a few more times, just to make sure he had been heard.

I need you – SH

John, I'm hungry – SH

John, Mycroft's being an idiot, come quickly – SH

John, I might be _dying_, don't you want to spend as much time with me as possible? –SH

He knew he shouldn't have sent the last one, it was pushing all the wrong buttons. But it got him a reply, although not a detailed one;

Don't. Stop it. – JW

10 minutes later and John was back, and ready for an argument, armed with food for Sherlock that was bound to go uneaten, a black coffee for Mycroft, and water for him.

He sipped at his drink and started to text his college tutor, until Mycroft stopped him, having already done so himself.

John had been ready to have an argument with Sherlock, but when he had walked through the doors he had found his boyfriend to be sleeping. Mycroft's explanation being an eyebrow raise and one word;

'drugs'.


	13. Chapter 13 - I Love You

**I'm trying with this one guys, - I'm beginning to wonder whether it's a bit of a lost cause!**

**Enjoy – please review :)**

It was two months into the chemotherapy, and John was balancing college work along with staying by Sherlock when he went in to get the injections. He was travelling to and from Cardiff and London at least twice a week, and it was beginning to take its toll.

Sherlock only became aware of this thought when he received a text from his ever-present big brother.

John won't be able to handle this for much longer. He's taking notes for you, travelling at least 16 hours a week, and he feels inclined to ''hold your hand'' as you go through chemotherapy. Something needs to be done –MH

'Obviously nothing too drastic, or you would have cancelled your dental appointment' Sherlock thought to himself. However he came to realise that he hadn't thought of the effects his condition would have on John. He planned the evening when he next arrived from college very carefully.

As he watched him walk through the doors and into the hospital ward where Sherlock was waiting, already getting rigged up, he lost all previous inhibitions when John, although tired, smiled, his eyes glowing with warmth.

They sat in silence as the drip was connected, and Sherlock took a deep breath and decided to break the awkwardness and talk. 'You can't keep doing this, John' he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 'You've lost a stone over the past 3 weeks, and you can't juggle college in Cardiff and being with me each time I get chemo. You need to look after yourself, as well'.

John's eyes widened at the considerate though, but wildly shook his head.

'I won't leave you here alone. Any option but that'

'I thought you might say that, which is why Myc is pulling some strings and getting you into Abbey College.' John's eyes widened again. He barely managed to scrape access to Cardiff College – Abbey College had all the privileges and meant he could spend more time with Sherlock. 'Are you sure?' he asked, feeling guilty that he was abusing Mycroft's power in the government. Sherlock rolled his eyes at this and didn't bother replying.

'I owe you one, then mate' John continued, grinning.

'You don't owe me anything, John' Sherlock replied, smiling back.

'Well maybe a kiss' he added as a quick afterthought.

John stood up and heaved a fake long suffering sigh, leaning over the bed and placing a kiss on Sherlock's forehead. Sherlock moaned and pouted, silently requesting more. John chuckled at the response and brushed their lips together. He reached round and cupped Sherlock's head, pulling him in for a deeper kiss.

John pulled away when he felt something in his hand he wished he hadn't. A mass of black, curly hair had remained in his palm when Sherlock had leant away.

A startlingly white bald patch now showed through Sherlock's remaining hair.

It brought them both crashing down to reality.

Sherlock sighed, a sick kind of humour almost gleaming in his eyes. 'I thought I had escaped that side effect'.

John gulped away his tears and pulled out the electric razor that Mycroft had given him for precisely this moment. 'Shall we?' he asked, seeing the pain from the chemotherapy ripping through Sherlock's body.

Sherlock looked up, and grimaced. 'No time like the present, I suppose'.

Tufts of hair drifted to the ground as John carefully shaved through. The tears he had previously held back were now spilling over. Silently. Silently enough for Sherlock to pretend he hadn't noticed.

It felt like a cloak was being removed – a deep, open wound being revealed for everyone to see. _Hair is something that shouldn't be taken for granted_, Sherlock though as John finished up. – It's almost like a shield. A cover to give protection and hide the problems that lay underneath, and now he felt naked, exposed.

A solitary tear fell from Sherlock's eye, and he blinked, overwhelmed by his own emotion.

It did not go unnoticed.

John leant in and kissed away the tear with a swipe of his lips. No words needed. None available that were even nearly suitable.

John crouched down, and put his head on his partner's knees. 'Sorry' john mumbled, muffled because he was attempting to talk through Sherlock's trouser fabric. 'Do me' he whispered, and Sherlock looked incredible startled until he realised what John meant.

'No' he shook his head. 'I'm not shaving your hair, you'll look like an egg' he tried to joke.

'Do it' John insisted, turning around, allowing access to his hair.

'No' Sherlock replied, almost pleadingly.

'Were doing this together, Sherlock' John stood up, and before Sherlock could argue, shaved a straight line through his hair. 'Now finish up' john demanded, sighing at the result so far of his new look.

'I love you' Sherlock blurted out, not having meant anything more so than that in his whole life.

John grinned at his outburst, and shoved the razor into his hand.

'I love you too, apparently. Now get rid of my bloody hair.'


	14. Chapter 14 - Panic

Panic 

**Ok I hope you like this one ladies and gentlefolk. It isn't as long as I'd hoped, but I think I finished it at the right point… enjoy! **

John held onto Sherlock's arms as he violently vomited into the sink, his body shaking from the force of it.

Sherlock hadn't eaten much yesterday, and nothing all today, and unfortunately, he couldn't stop gagging long enough to swallow water, so he was now throwing up copious amounts of acidic yellow bile.

'Shhh' John comforted, placing a small kiss on his friends forehead, as Sherlock stopped trembling, and his gag reflexes calmed down.

'You done?' he asked, stroking his head where his hair previously would have now been stuck down, matted and sweaty. Sherlock nodded weakly and allowed himself to be half carried back to the uncomfortable bed.

'This isn't one of the privileges of chemo. I don't feel very graceful' he started to joke, and then leant forward and vomited again without warning.

John leapt up with a basin and a cloth and as he advanced he noticed that the now dripping bed sheets weren't just yellow, or clear. They were speckled with red. 'Shit' John thought, noticing Sherlock's face grow paler as he himself noticed the blood. They caught each other's eyes, and John jumped into action, his mind reeling at what would be the best thing to do. He wanted to be a doctor when he was older, but he had no idea what the first thing to be done when your best friend was orally bleeding would be.

John didn't say anything, just calmly pressed the small red button above the bed to call for assistance. He pulled out his phone and sent a single message to two contacts;

- _Greg, Mycroft – Sherlock's vomiting blood. Help JW_

- _Please JW – _he added as an afterthought.

He got two replies only seconds later;

- _On way – Don't let Doctor do anything until I arrive MH_

And

- _On way. Don't worry yet John, keep calm GL_

He didn't feel either of these were suitable to bottle the emotions he was currently feeling, but he didn't get much of a chance as two nurses pushed their way through, and pulled Sherlock back into a sitting position, still heaving over the bowl. They steadied his breathing, and rolled him onto a moveable bed, obviously planning to do something that wasn't a possibility in a ward.

He was about to tell the nurses to wait, when Mycroft stormed in, Greg in tow.

'Mycroft Holmes' he announced, although it was clear who he was just by looking at him. 'Update on my brother's condition' he demanded, looking around at whom would dare answer him first.

At this moment, Dr Dimmock walked in, wringing his hands again. Sherlock was taken out of the room, and the nurses asked both Mycroft and John not to follow.

'Please, please' Dr Dimmock hushed, waving his hands at the three worried men. 'We are in the process of doing tests, and I promise to update you as soon as possible. Now if you would like to wait here, or in the waiting room, I will get back to you once I've seen Sherlock' he rushed out of the room in the direction that Sherlock had been taken.

Greg sighed and fell into the nearest chair 'fuck' he whispered.

Mycroft shifted slightly onto his left leg, and loosened his tie. This was about as emotional as he would get. He was, remember,considered to be _the iceman_.

And John stood, waiting for the other half of his soul to return.

After two hours, Dr Dimmock returned.

He looked more relaxed than he did previously, and the men took this as a good sign.

'Mr Holmes, Mr Watson…' he nodded towards them, and then at Greg.

'During chemotherapy, it is not uncommon to see relatively small streaks of blood when repeatedly vomiting. He confirmed he had some epigastric discomfort, and both of these symptoms link to irritation of the stomach and oesophagus. You said Sherlock hadn't eaten much, John. This explains why there is a larger depth of irritation. Despite this, he is perfectly fine, his platelet cell count is also quite low, but we are working on that, and he is feeling much better already. He has been moved to a private ward, on your request Mr Holmes, and if you feel the need for more information, just come and find me' he nodded towards them and backed out of the room, reading through a clipboard buried under a thick wodge of paper.

_'Fine'_ they whispered in unison.

Never has there been a word less suitable.

'Oh so Sherlock's vomiting blood, but he isn't dead so he's considered fucking _fine_' John mumbled, voicing all of their internal thoughts.

'Come' Mycroft whispered, which made both Greg and John jump, because they could clearly hear the sentiment in his voice, almost overpowering the single word he had spoken.

_'Sentiment is a chemical found in the losing side' _Mycroft choked._ 'And I'm happy to be on that side as long as it doesn't include losing my brother'_


	15. Chapter 15 - Recovery

Recovery

**I quite enjoyed writing this chapter. It's a short one, again. But it's going more in the direction I want it to go.**

**I think this fanfic is going to take longer than I thought.**

**Enjoy, and please review :)**

'Okay. Just a couple more steps' John said, ushering Sherlock into the flat Mycroft had left to them; 221B, Baker Street.

John assumed that this was Mycroft's attempt at humour.

They finally managed to get into the flat, and were almost ready to pass out with exhaustion when a familiar, friendly face appeared before them.

'Mrs Hudson?' John questioned, taken aback by the beaming grin of the woman, who was now embracing them.

'Mycroft sent me to be your house keeper! He said he wouldn't need me quite as much, because he's got Greg'. Mrs Hudson smiled, neither Sherlock nor John could bare to say anything that would dampen the glint that was shining bright in her grey eyes, but they couldn't resist a harmless little dig.

'Myc's turning Greg into a proper housewife then?' they joked, getting a snuffle and a 'humph!' in response.

John walked further into the flat, gasping at what lay before him.

It was perfect.

A fire was flickering in the small fireplace that adorned the room. A dark, leather sofa stretched across the width, facing a small, elegant television. Some papers, obviously Sherlock's, already laid scattered across the room – it made it feel more like home.

Mrs Hudson mumbled something about making dinner, and disappeared down the steps apparently to another flat that was to be just for her. _That was nice of Mycroft._

A large thick envelope was resting on the bureau. Signed only for _'John'_

He paused, trying to recognise the writing. When it didn't come to him, he opened it and read;

_John, _

_I have chosen to write to you on these delicate matters because I believe sometimes, a hard copy is necessary to keep one grounded, and in full belief. _

_It seems my brother had decided to give up on college, and if you let him, he will rely on you for everything. You must __not__ allow him to do this. _

_Whilst once I had the ability to control his movements, he is now at the age where he must make his own decisions, and to him I am someone who is only there to hold him back. I worry about him. Constantly. _

_I have managed to get you your previously assigned target A level grades, and neither of you will have to continue at college this year or any other. _

_You will both, if desired, begin university next year; one year early. _

_You now have AAAA to your name._

_Sherlock has AA*A*A* to his. Please make him aware. _

_You both will stay at Baker Street for the time being, and you can do so when you continue your education should you wish it. However, this is yourself and Sherlock's personal preference. _

_I am always on hand when you need me, and all choices to be made are yours._

_Good luck, and to your good health,_

_Myc Holmes. _

John repeated the letter to Sherlock. He sat, amazed.

He knew Mycroft held a 'minor position in the British Government' but even Sherlock had no idea how he had the capability to just give them A levels. It was incredible.

Overwhelming.

Sherlock worked out that they had five months until they had to think about getting prepared.

He also mentioned that the news that he didn't have to work with the 'imbeciles' in college anymore, and his new home, all mixed up with the excitement of being told he was free from Hodgkin's Lymphoma made the last few weeks, the best he could remember.

John settles Sherlock into the nearest bedroom, and as he went to leave, he felt his wrist being pulled back.

'Stay with me' Sherlock mumbled, already half asleep, but awake enough to tighten his hold on him.

John grinned, slowly shuffling under the duvet to join him.

He leant forward and pressed his lips against Sherlock's. – They remained like this for more than 20 minutes, intertwined, comfortable, in love.

John stroked Sherlock's head, mentally recording the growth progress.

'You're growing out faster that I am!' he exclaimed, smiling.

'I worked it out, John' Sherlock whispered. When John looked back questioningly, he rolled his eyes. 'Fine was more suitable than you thought'. Trust Sherlock to listen into a conversation John had been having when he was concerned for his life. 'F.I.N.E' Sherlock added, his eyes glinting.

'Oh yeah?' John replied, waiting for a response.

'Fragile, Insecure, Neurotic, Emotional. Just about sums us up, eh? We're F.I.N.E?'

John chuckled, stroking Sherlock's head, now laced with fine black stubble. He brushed his lips against his ear, and whispered words he'd never meant more.

'We're fine'.


	16. Chapter 16 - Calm

Calm

Sherlock & John

'John, get some milk!' Sherlock shouted from the sofa as the door slammed shut. He sighed, and closed the laptop.

Bored.

Sherlock had things to do, and it was about time he got them done_. Before_ John got back.

He thanked god that his hair grew faster than many people's, and he pushed it away from his face as he walked up to their bedroom; John had never moved into his, so this was their shared one, the other one held host for Sherlock's experiments.

He rummaged about in the room, and found the debit card Mycroft had sent him weeks before. No doubt fully loaded with enough money to last them years. He was_ occasionally_ grateful for his big brother. Occasionally.

He pulled off his dressing gown and slipped into some jeans and a hoodie before running out of the house, and straight into a black taxi.

'Town center, please' he barked, and they shot off into the distance.

John hated shopping. But Sherlock refused point blank to do it, and they both agreed to say no to Mycroft's offer of shopping being delivered, so there was no other option, really.

It took him an hour and a half to find all the food they needed along with all of Sherlock's descriptive requests. 'That pure cocoa stuff that's got a golden-green label'.

As he turned the corner on his way home, he remembered.

_Milk_

'Fuck' John thought, and considered just leaving it, and then he remembered what Sherlock had been like when he had forgotten last time.

_Not_ worth it.

It took him an extra half an hour, and when he got home, Sherlock was still on his laptop, obviously reading something, his hands steepled under his nose as if praying. This angered John to no end, but before he could mention it, Sherlock had leaped from the seat, and placed a heated kiss on to his lips.

He opened his mouth, giving permission to Sherlock's tongue to explore further, deeper.

When they broke away, John couldn't help but chuckle.

'I want you, John' Sherlock whispered, making eye contact.

John raised his brow, and was about to tell him that _he already has him_ when he realised what he meant. Oh. _Oh_

'Oh, um, are you sure?' he questioned, already feeling the heat rising.

'Of course I'm sure, John' Sherlock huffed, rolling his eyes. 'Now take. Me. To. Bed' he muttered in-between kisses that he placed all over John's neck.

John didn't need to be told twice, but when they reached the room, he stopped abruptly.

'We haven't got anything…for it' he whispered, realising that without it, and with the mild fact that he was sure Sherlock was a virgin, they couldn't continue.

'Oh please' Sherlock replied, reaching under the bed for something. 'You thought I wouldn't have remembered that?' he said, grinning.

He pulled out a small black box, opening it to reveal at least 20 different tubes of a variety of flavoured lubes, a few condoms, and a few other toys that John dared not to think about.

'I took the privilege of having you tested. You're clean as a whistle, as am I. and I certainly don't want anything between us this time, do you? So no condom. Unless you object'

John was about to rage over how dare Sherlock test him without him knowing, when he considered the sentiment in the previous sentence. He didn't want _anything between us_.

John slammed Sherlock into the bed, pushing their bodies together, as he sucked on his neck, making him unashamedly moan.

They quickly stripped each other, and John stopped only to kiss away the nervousness that had appeared on Sherlock's face. He took control, knowing that this was no doubt the most trust he had ever place on a person.

In that moment he knew that he could break Sherlock so easily. A word, and sentence, one wrong move, and he could shatter Sherlock's heart.

And he made a silent promise to both of them that he would _never_ do that.

They were both new to this, about that they had no doubt, so it was left as words unspoken.

They were both to lose their innocence tonight.

It was messy, unrhythmical, and beautiful.

They lived for each other in the moments, the lust overwhelming them.

The slight pain that came from being virgin's not even hours ago, only making it sweeter.

Nothing came between them. They were no longer two souls looking for each other.

They were halves of one. Not complete without the other.

'I love you' Sherlock whispered, their breathing slowly returning to its normal rate.

John smiled, loving this side of Sherlock that he hadn't seen before.

'I love you too' he replied, pulling Sherlock into a sweaty, naked cuddle as they drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


	17. Chapter 17 - Moriarty

**Moriarty. **

**I'm really sorry about this one, guys. It needed to be done. **

**Don't hate me ;)**

**Enjoy and Review ! :) **

'But, no. that can't be right. Where are his shoes?' Sherlock shouted at the bewildered police officer.

Greg had asked Sherlock for help on a case, and Sherlock and John had had an argument. That was never a good mix.

Anderson was the one to get the full blow this week, though. '…you're an incompetent, idiotic man who's more interested in shagging Donovan, than completing the case! An otter could handle your job better!' Sherlock continued before flouncing out of the room. 'Sorry, Greg' John muttered, 'he seems to take personal arguments between us out on everyone else' he collected his stuff, and started to shuffle out of the room.

Greg sighed. 'Don't worry, John. Just try and sort it, yeah?'

Sherlock had, surprisingly, told the taxi driver to wait for John. He was sitting on the far left of the back seat, wringing his hands and watching something out of the window

'Well done, you prat' John said as the car started to move away.

Sherlock only glared back, repeating that is wasn't his fault that they were all 'complete and utter idiots'

'Alright. But Sherlock, Greg is risking his career, letting you go there. You need to show some respect'

Sherlock didn't respond at all to this, only continued looking out of the window.

'This is all about the argument we had, isn't it?' John tried, licking his lips.

'We never used to have arguments' Sherlock said, his voice breaking slightly halfway through.

John withheld a laugh. 'We didn't used to spend 24 hours together, Sherlock. Arguments happen, it's a way of showing each other you care'.

'It sounds stupid if you ask me' Sherlock sniffled, shuffling slightly towards John.

'It would' john grinned, pulling Sherlock in for a hug. 'I love you. This or any other argument just proves I love you even more, if possible. Not less, okay?'

Sherlock nodded into John's coat, and moved his head upwards for a quick kiss.

'None of that, in here' a rough voice came from the front of the taxi. 'Always gets so messy'

John and Sherlock contained themselves as they pulled away from each other, trying to avoid bursting out laughing. The moment they reached Baker Street, John paid more than he should have for the fare, and they both fell out of the taxi, laughing.

It only lasted a short walk up to the door of 221B for Sherlock to realise something was wrong.

The door was slightly ajar, the paintwork slightly scratched; different to how it was left.

'John' he muttered, slowly pushing the door open. 'Arm yourself with anything you can find'.

John's eyes widened as he slowly noticed the things Sherlock already had. He nodded, and followed him inside, picking up the heavy cane that Mrs Hudson was now regularly using.

Mrs Hudson was obviously out, she had left a note in the hallway, and a pot of tea for when they arrived; which was still warm.

Sherlock was about to text Mycroft, and tell John it must've been a false alarm when they noticed that there was a man, sitting in the armchair farthest away.

'Jim Moriarty' he introduced. 'Hi!'

'What do you want?' Sherlock asked the innocent looking man, narrowing his eyes.

'You, Sherlock darling. You' he continued, his eyes gleaming.

He pulled an apple from his Westwood jacket, and bit into it, humming a tune.

'Johann Sebastian Bach' John said, recognising it.

'Clever boy!' Jim rewarded, grinning. 'Your pet's relatively clever, Sherlock!'

Sherlock and John glanced at each other.

'What do you want?' Sherlock repeated, trying to look around the room for something to arm himself with.

'You guessed about the Carl Powers case, I see. Very good. Very good. I was taking yoga classes and he decided that it would be amusing to point out that I couldn't do one of the positions quite as well.

He should've stopped.'

'You killed him because he criticized your _yoga technique_?!' John asked, almost laughing but being hushed by Sherlock.

'But why take the shoes. Surely you would know that I'd guess. It was a silly mistake.' Sherlock said, beaming triumphantly.

Jim grimaced at this, and rolled his eyes. 'Oh no no no. I don't make mistakes, darling. I've just noticed that you've been very inquisitive into my…work, recently. So take this as a friendly warning, my dear.'

He walked up to Sherlock, closing the small amount of distance between them.

'Back off.'

Before Sherlock could reply, he was making his way out of the flat and down the stairs.

'Oh and don't try and follow me, I wouldn't want to waste a couple of bullets on you. That'd be no fun whatsoever. And I won't get the chance to burn the heart out of you, if you don't stop prying' He giggled, glancing at John, and closing the door behind him.

John took a deep breath, and fell onto the sofa, head in his hands.

'What the fuck, Sherlock?'

Sherlock sighed, looking around the room. 'I got too close to something. Something he's done or is doing and it scared him, so now he's trying to put me off. Ah' he added, when he noticed a small black camera poking from the eye socket of a skull he had recently collected. He pulled it out, and looked straight into it.

'Catch. You. Later' he whispered at the small lens, before dropping it on the floor, and smashing it with his right foot.

'Now come, John' he nodded towards the bedroom.

'On google it said something about makeup sex?' he winked, pulling his lovers arm as he followed him.

'Sherlock, you need to look into these things more. Our argument was about me buying the wrong cocoa. I hardly think sex is necessary for sorting out that problem, do you?' he chuckled, watching as Sherlock quickly stripped down to his underpants.

He walked towards John, and fell to his knees.

'Do shut up, John. Unless you want me to stop' he leant forward, and pressed his lips against John's erection.

Just as they were beginning, they heard a gunshot.

John swore and quickly shoved some trousers on before running downstairs, Sherlock straight behind him.

Nothing was amiss in their flat, so they ran down the stairs into the hall way, and the sight before them was horrifying.

Outside Mrs Hudson's flat, lay Greg Lestrade.

He was awake, his eyes slowly drooping, and he looked far from peaceful.

Standing above him was Jim, obviously not content with just leaving them alone.

'Sorry gents. He wouldn't let me pass' Jim chuckled. He strutted out and closed the front door before they could stop him.

John swore, and fell to his knees, supporting Greg's back and head.

Sherlock stood, unable to understand what he should be doing, he desperately tugged at John's arm.

John took a deep breath. 'Sherlock, call 999, say that if we don't get an ambulance soon… no call Mycroft. He needs to know, and he'll get something sorted quicker' Sherlock nodded at this, and stepped outside pulling out his phone and dialling.

_Mycroft_ – he started

_Ah, brother dear. We're not starting to call each other, are we?_

_It's Greg, Myc_

_What's happened_ – the tone of his voice had dropped lower, it was almost threatening.

_He's been shot. Get an ambulance over to 221B ASAP_ – Sherlock hung up. He couldn't bear to hear his brother break down. Not now. Not ever.

He walked back into the hallway to find John attempting to stem the blood flow with his hands.

From what Sherlock could see, he had been shot thrice.

'John' he whispered. 'John, it's gone through his lung with one shot. An artery in his wrist with the other. And the third-'John cut him off. 'Stop it. He'll be fine, okay?'

Greg's breathing was becoming more laboured by the second, and he looked as if he may start fitting.

Sherlock walked over to his side, and cupped his face, making him look straight at him. 'Greg, deep breaths, don't close your eyes, not just yet. You need to see Mycroft, remember?' Greg smiled slightly at this, a small amount of blood dripping from his mouth. He pulled Sherlock close, and whispered something in his ear. Sherlock's eyes widened, but he nodded, his lips closed in a tight line.

'L-love 'im' he whispered, his chest beginning to convulse.

'I know that, but you need to wait and tell Myc, okay?' at that moment, the man in question walked through the already open door, panic written on his usually straight, solemn face.

'Greg' he whispered, dropping to his knees by his lover.

'l-l…love you' Greg managed, looking into his eyes.

'I love you too, darling. Just stay awake, yes? Just for me? Please?' a tear fell from the distinguished, icy eyes.

Sherlock whispered Greg's condition into Mycroft's ear, and then pulled John up, to wait outside with the ambulance.

'Why aren't the ambulances coming to help him?' John said, his anger building. 'There's still time'.

'No' Sherlock said, closing his eyes. 'Greg doesn't want help. He knows he's going to die, and the paramedics will only prolong it. He asked me to leave him when Mycroft came, so they could have their last minutes together. Alone'

'Why was he here, Sherlock? Why did he come?'

Sherlock pulled out his phone, showing a text. 'I didn't receive this until a minute ago, we were… preoccupied.'

_Hey Sherlock, _

_I'm going to come over – It's Myc's birthday tomorrow and I need your view on what you think of his present – don't worry about earlier, Anderson is an idiot. _

- _GL x_

'He clearly thought keeping Jim from leaving was a good idea' Sherlock shouted.

'Don't' John whispered.

Tears openly fell from both the men.

'But what will I do without you?' Mycroft choked, trying to keep his emotions in check, wanting to be strong for Greg.

'You'll. Be. Fine.' Greg said, his voice slowly quietening.

'You changed my life' Mycroft added, leaning down to press his lips again Greg's. His hand was resting on his chest, he could feel it as his heart rate weakened.

'And don't you forget it' Greg joked, pulling Mycroft down for another kiss.

They separated and Mycroft looked at Greg, thinking of how else to express his emotions. But it was too late. His chest was no longer moving, his heart rate slowed to a standstill. 'No' Mycroft whispered, all the tears he had prevented now over filling, spilling over, onto the body.

Sherlock walked in, hearing this, and found Mycroft leaning over the body, holding it close, repeating _no_

Sherlock pulled his brother away and into his arms, as the paramedics pulled the body onto a stretcher, and covered it with a cloth.

Neither said anything, Sherlock allowing Mycroft to cry, and scream and do anything he felt necessary, just rocking him slightly in return.

He was screaming now, repeating the barely audible words 'Caring is not an advantage. Caring is not an advantage' – he was trying to convince himself that he was fine, that he didn't love Greg and that this wouldn't affect him the way it already was. He was kidding no one.

'But I love him' Mycroft whispered.


	18. Chapter 18 - The Iceman

The Iceman.

** Hello chaps :) - this chapter is really just a lead on from the last, but I'm gonna back away from this plot for a bit now, and move more back onto Johnlock. **

**Hope you like it :D**

**Enjoy and Review! **

_Every single part of my life that was worth living for, is gone. The only person I have ever truly loved, dead. And it's my fault. _

_I should've had security cameras on Scotland Yard, but I'd reduced them because he doesn't like being watched, and I trust him. I trusted him._

_I should've known he'd want present approval from Sherlock and John, he always does that because he wants to make everything perfect. _

_ I still talk to him. I take a walk, sit down, and I see him. _

'You shouldn't have done that' he says.

Greg just looks back, his ghostly face smirking slightly as he replies. 'Your brother might have been in danger, you would've done the same thing'.

This angers him 'He was leaving! What good have you done? You're an idiot'

He agrees with that one quite willingly. And then he whispers 'I still love you'

Which is enough to annoy Mycroft to the point of trying to leave his own hallucination.

'I will never be whole again. And it's your fault' he screams, at which point, he realises he's been shouting at the gravestone.

_Gregory Lestrade_

_Much loved husband, brother, friend. _

_One sacrifice too many for the sake _

_of others. _

This was also a lie. But a relatively nice one, Mycroft thought.

He was never a husband, and he was an only child. However, Mycroft and Greg were in the stages of planning their engagement and wedding already, and they had already started to call each other _'husband_' in private, so it was good as true.

Everyone considered him part of the family, and Sherlock himself had requested '_brother'_ to be added.

He backed away from the gravestone, away from the staring eyes of other mourners around him, and found himself running to Baker Street.

He avoided the persistent calls from Anthea, and didn't slow down until he reached 221B. He knocked on the door, leaning on it to avoid passing out. It was quickly opened by John, surprise unhidden on his face.

'Jesus, Mycroft. Come in' he says, ushering him in, and shutting the door behind him. He sat me down on the sofa, and wrapped a thick wool blanket over me, and within seconds was making tea. To him that was the protocol.

'What happened, mate?' john asked, sitting down next to him.

'I went to visit Greg' Mycroft choked, attempting to hide his emotions. He'd been taught by the best to never unravel in front of another person. But this was more difficult than he thought.

John sighed, putting an arm around Mycroft and pulling him closer.

'You need to start to think of other things, Myc. Go back to work, get a hobby. It won't change anything but it'll make it slightly easier.'

Mycroft nodded at this, he knew he had to go back to work anyway; he'd taken the maximum amount of paid leave for a year in a few weeks. But this didn't make the reality of it any easier. He was going to have to go on in the world, and leave Greg behind, and that was the only thing he didn't want to do.

'Nothing will bring him back' John whispers, recognising his thoughts.

Live a full, happy life. A double life. Live for Greg, Mycroft. John said, slowly easing Mycroft to lay down fully on the sofa.

'Now, by the looks of it, you were close to a panic attack and you're verging on being incredibly depressed. If my analysis is anything to go by, you're going to stay here overnight. Have a rest on the sofa, and there's a spare room upstairs to the left. I'll see you later' John nods and slowly walks towards the door to his room.

Mycroft leans forward slightly, thinking of how to thank him.

'You'll be a good doctor' he tried, pushing forward a small smile.

John grins, and chuckles slightly. 'I should hope so'.

The moment John leaves the room, he pulls out his phone and texts Sherlock.

_Myc's here. He's the opposite of himself, must be worse than we thought. Get back tonight, this time, okay? - JW_

He gets a reply minutes later.

_I'm on my way. Don't expect me to be all cuddly with him. Make sure he has an extra blanket though. He's skinny enough to need it. I love you – SH_

John grinned at this, the text almost completely contradicting itself. He knew Sherlock cared more than he dared to think about. And the only way he could truly show it was through John.

_I love you more – JW _he replies.


	19. Chapter 19 - Sherlock Holmes

**So yeah... all sunshine and happy times from here on out ... for a few chapter until I feel the need to mix things up a bit again ;)**

**Enjoy and review! :) **

As he waved goodbye to the car, now a mere black spot in the distance, Mycroft realised he would be really grateful for his brother's company over the next few weeks.

John and Sherlock didn't have long now until they began at University, and he himself hadn't got past mourning Greg, to the point where although he went to work each day, he was a shell once more, an exterior which showed strength, and courage. But there was nothing inside. Nothing that could feel, or break.

He was empty.

He'd taken to rehearsing the words '_caring is not an advantage'_ each morning, until the day that he heard it.

He followed the strange noise up the stairs, until he came upon the closed door which currently led to John and Sherlock's room.

He listened, hoping for all their sakes he hadn't heard something he'd regret, but soon enough he heard John, his tone a comforting one, similar to a doctors. 'shh' he said 'Myc will be fine, in the end, I promise'.

He winced at these words, and the idea that the couple were talking about him.

He heard the noise he had earlier, and realised that it was Sherlock. _Crying._

'Don't promise that, John. Don't ever. You don't know him like I do. Greg was the first and only person Myc ever loved, and he will never fully get over it'

He heard the bed squeak and presumed that they were leaning in, comforting, just _being_, together.

Something that Mycroft could _never_ do with his true love again.

He had heard enough, and he slowly padded down the stairs to his own room, falling into the duvet and feeling tired enough to sleep for the first time in days.

'Sherlock is wrong' he muttered, rolling himself into the middle of the bed.

'He himself is the first person I ever loved' Mycroft concluded, making a mental note to pull himself together tomorrow, for Sherlock's sake if not his own.

Mycroft woke up as routine at 4.30am, and today was no different. He pulled on his grey suit, and chose a tie that would bring out the colour of his eyes. _It's worth the time to look beautiful_ as Greg used to joke, when he was waiting for him hours longer than they agreed.

He strolled downstairs, remembering to pick up his umbrella, just in case.

To his surprise, John and Sherlock were already down, half asleep, at the breakfast table. There was a vast array of food in front of them, courteously made by Mrs Hudson, no doubt, but they stopped eating and talking the moment he walked in.

In the last couple of weeks it had become habit for Mycroft to pour himself a coffee, avoid eye contact, and move into the library, where he knew no one would disturb him. To the surprise of two men that were already avoiding looking up, he sat down, and served himself a large helping of bacon.

Sherlock glanced at John, and pulled a slight smile. It took a couple of minutes for either of them to pluck up the courage to talk to him.

'Don't eat too much, Mycroft. Don't want to be gaining too much around the middle. Let's not have déjà vu on the year before last's escapades'.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, knowing this was as close as it got to having a normal conversation with his brother.

'Don't remind me.' He looked towards John 'Control him, would you? He seems to get awfully bad tempered on the nights where you don't give him any' John blushed at this, lowering his head. He knew it was just Mycroft and Sherlock's daily arguments, but as an outsider, it was awkward being included at the best of times.

'Don't bring my personal life into this conversation, Mycroft. I won't say anything in response, wouldn't want you to comfort eat and have to get all your suits made bigger. You're almost spilling over now' Sherlock grumbled, obviously too tired to create a legitimate response.

John excused himself, and looked at Sherlock warningly as if to say _don't ask, talk to him_. Sherlock raised his eyebrows at this, but before he could say anything, John had slammed the door shut behind him.

Sherlock groaned, and swivelled around in his seat to face Mycroft. Neither of them were in the mood for a heart-to-heart. So they both waited, looking expectantly at each other.

'So…' they both said in unison, looking down to avoid addressing the tension in the room which had now steadily increased since John had walked out.

'I'mnotgoingtoUni' Sherlock blurted, holding his head in his hands.

Mycroft slowly placed his cup onto the table, and leaned back on the tall leather chair.

'Don't be an idiot, you're going' he said, calmly.

Sherlock looked his brother in the eye, and felt himself shrinking against the power he was met with. 'I don't want to leave you yet. Not so soon after Gr-'Mycroft stopped him before he could finish. 'Don't start, Sherlock. I'm fine, see? Just fine, and perfectly fine without you, that I will swear to' he added, attempting humour. Sherlock grimaced at this, and shook his head 'you heard me and John last night, didn't you? You shouldn't have had to hear that, I'm sorry' a tear left his right eye, running the length of his cheek before splashing onto his empty plate.

Mycroft smiled weakly. 'I'm slightly touched you care for me, brother dear. But I'm okay, and I'm not helping anyone moping round here anymore. I was thinking of going on holiday for a short while'. He said, the sentence almost a question, but not quite.

Sherlock's ears pricked up. Myc was trying to be strong for his sake, rather than his own. And it was worse because of that. 'That's a good idea. Where are you going to go?' he asked.

'Oh nowhere interesting, I was thinking about the Maldives. I was thinking you and John could join me during half term'.

Sherlock grinned, imagining his pale, skinny brother in colourful swimming trunks. 'That'd be nice' Sherlock said, his mind half away with thoughts, now.

Mycroft stood up, pushing the chair away from the long, oak table.

'I must go, lots to be done' he said, as he made his way towards the heavy door.

Sherlock hummed a response to this, his mind now full of ideas on where he would take John to when they went on holiday. When he heard the door squeak open he came crashing back down.

'Thanks' he whispered, knowing it would be accepted, not questioned.

'always' Mycroft replied, knowing he was being thanked in general, but more for his not questioning acceptance of John, despite the horrific circumstances.

He had no regrets about letting John into his home, and a solitary, gleaming tear fell as he remembered the words Greg had told him one night;

_'Myc… Sherlock Holmes is a great man. And I think one day, if we're very, very lucky, with John by his side, he might even be a good one' _


	20. Chapter 20 - Leaving Holmes Manor

**Leaving Holmes Manor**

**So this (and the following, I think) chapter has been created by my incredibly talented best friend – Victoria Raven. Woooo**

**She's my guest writer for this particular fic, and you must all start to love her as much as I do.**

**Enjoy and review :)**

The morning was cold in the Holmes Manor; John didn't feel it as Sherlock slept soundly beside him radiating heat like a human water bottle. It was their last day; at precisely twelve they'd leave in Myc's car and be on their way to university. It would be nice to stay here forever; the Holmes house provided John with a serenity and content that he never got at home, but it wasn't to be.

Really it was a shame that Mycroft's powers didn't extend to get both he and Sherlock degrees. Apparently A-levels were as far as his influence could carry. Sighing with the realization that he would never get back to sleep; he snuck from under Sherlock's arm and swung his legs into his slippers at the base of the bed. He avoided the one creaky floorboard, despite knowing that Sherlock would feel his absence, it still paid to be silent so Mycroft couldn't precisely map his movements. The Holmes' really did have inhuman hearing.

Throwing on jeans and a vest he staggered downstairs following the least noisy path so Sherlock would sleep a little longer at least.

Mrs Hudson was awake already, that woman had the movements of a mouse, nobody, not ever Myc could detect when she woke up each morning, she was simply 'there' and ready.

"Good morning John, good night? Good. I'll make more tea, one or two sugars this morning?" Mrs Hudson reached into the cupboard simultaneously flicking on the kettle and grabbing a spoon.

Despite his attempts to keep him sleeping – Sherlock didn't sleep much, and when he did it was such a rarity it had to be preserved for as long as possible - it seemed, Sherlock had decided to quietly follow John when he had awoken.

"Sherlock! Coffee? You look awful." She chose a second cup and poured the filtered coffee up the top, Sherlock despised milk, saw no point in it, besides the heat woke him up just as well as the caffeine.

By half past eleven Mycroft still hadn't shown his face, even with Greg's passing he was always promptly up and ready in a three piece at nine every morning at the very least, even on days off.

Though he would never admit it, Sherlock was beginning to get worried, his shifty eyes kept narrowing at the slightest creek and frequent quizzical glances at the stairs showed that he was getting anxious over Mycroft's disappearance.

Finally at eleven fifty five, Mycroft bounded downstairs in a track suit.

"Trying to make me laugh Mycroft?" said Sherlock a small almost unnoticeable look of relief on his face.

"Yes dear brother, I thought I'd take your advice, stay away from chocolate and exercise." Mycroft managed a sad smile as he shook Johns hand and then turned to Sherlock.

"I'm glad, just...take...take it easy yes?" Sherlock patted his brother's shoulder and turned to get in the car.

"Wait!" Myc mumbled urgently. "Wait...um, thank you Sherlock. For everything. Just try not to cause too much havoc at university..." Sherlock turned and unexpectedly embraced Mycroft into a tight hug.

"We aren't doing this now are we?" Mycroft joked squeezing Sherlock.

"No I don't think so" Sherlock whispered and climbed in the car so quickly that the single tear that fell from his right eye was not seen by Myc or John.


	21. Chapter 21 - Arrival

**Yoooooo.**

**Let's all do a little jig for Victoria Raven once more. Hoorah**

**I've edited some small areas, but apart from that, it has been left untouched. **

**Enjoy & review :) -MORE DRAMA COMING SOON GOIYS.**

''This is all wrong John!" Sherlock shouted from inside their residence.

"What is it this time, Sherlock?" John was already feeling incredibly sympathetic towards their in-mates (as such).

"The desk is bolted down and at a really bad angle and then the bed, well _beds._ We need to push them together. I NEED SPACE!". Sherlock reeled off the deductions he'd taken from the room and was already dragging one small iron bed to another. The desk was by the window and John, as always, couldn't see what was wrong with it, though Sherlock was right, it was bolted down.

"Look if you just wait for a moment, I can get my tools out" John sighed setting down their suitcases on the bed, wincing as the springs squeaked.

"You have tools?" Sherlock blinked, bewildered.

"Yeah, a set as a Christmas present from Harry a couple of years ago" he explained holding up a miniature red box. Rumbling for a screwdriver John watched as Sherlock continued stalking a perimeter of the room.

"John?" Sherlock said.

"Yes?"

"I don't think that we need the wardrobe, do you?" his eyes narrowed.

"Where are we meant to keep the clothes? I mean we can't just live out of our suitcases can we?" John already regretted saying it.

"That's a brilliant idea John!" Sherlock was already moving the light modern wardrobe.

"It was a joke Sherlock; no we aren't getting rid of the wardrobe." John warned holding the screwdriver, pointing it towards him as part of an unspoken warning.

"Fine!" Sherlock said briskly as he slumped on the now conjoined beds, curling into a ball onto his side and blowing his now restored hair out of his eyes.

John went over to the desk and made quick work of the bolts.

"Sherlock, are you gonna tell me where you want this desk, or not?" he asked softly knowing that he had annoyed him.

"Going to" Sherlock mumbled.

"Pardon?" John said, padding over to him.

"It's not 'gonna' its 'going to' and no not just yet, look its dark out come to bed John." Sherlock turned and looked at John in a way that made hearts beat faster.

"Sherlock...I need a shower and it isn't really dark at all and..." Sherlock was unrelenting in his stare "Really Sherl, you don't want my mangy hair in your face tonight, wait will you?"

"You better hurry up is all I can say" replied Sherlock and he rolled back to his previous position.

"I promise" John whizzed off, skidding on the tiles of the bathroom before realizing that he had no towel...'oh well' he thought 'there aren't any people moving in until tomorrow'. He turned on the shower and had what was possible the quickest wash of his life. Leaping back out again he grabbed his clothes and opened the bathroom door with them clutched to his chest.

A girlish scream sounded from the hall. John ducked and dropped his clothes lower to protect his manhood. He slowly opened his eyes to a woman standing on the left holding the handle of a baby blue suitcase, covered in small image prints of kittens. _Kittens_. Her face was shielded in a sharp fringe and pretty brunette curls fell down her back.

"Oh God! I am so sorry! I didn't think anyone was moving in until tomorrow, I'm John by the way, John Watson." He looked down "I would shake your hand but..."

"Molly, I'm Molly Hooper and no...Don't worry at all, I mean happens to everyone right?" she backed into her room across the hall and shyly waved before shutting the door. John stood and ran back into their room.

"Johhhnnn...What took you so long? And why are you naked...not that I'm complaining, but..." Sherlock was sitting on the edge of the bed in a dark blue dressing gown, the sleeves only just reaching past his elbows, he noticed.

"I just met our new neighbour, Molly_. Naked_. Oh and I forgot a towel, but me being me thinking that we were the only ones arriving today, just thought. Well didn't think. That going around naked would be a bad thing."

"Don't worry John I'm sure she's not traumatized to the point of no return, it's going to be fine. I think you just met our new 'friend'" said Sherlock "I still have no idea why you think we need a 'friend'. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, a small grin coming across his previously pursed lips. "Now come to bed you wet naked man..."

"Okay, fine!" John sighed and reached for some boxers.

"Ah, you won't be needing those" Sherlock whispered as he pulled John down. "I think we are going to be just fine."


	22. Chapter 22 - God, no

**So this is set about two years later, if you're wondering what happened inbetween, not much. **

**Cases, getting over Greg, working hard at Uni. **

**this is where the drama begins **

**Enjoy and Review! :)**

**Oh and for those who decide to take it upon themselves, to not review and comment in a way which would help, but just state things which are an attempt to hurt feelings...stop. I don't want nor need that on this story. If you have criticism which will help me build this, I'm all for it, if not, go away. I'm not asking you to read it.**

2 years later.

Sherlock had been gaining public attention due to the large cases he had been taking in between Uni lectures, and he was now being noticed on the street; sometimes even being asked for autographs and pictures.

As he said, however 'the last thing a consulting detective needs is a public image'.

He'd upgraded his mind castle to a mind palace; much more information space, there.

He had a room all for John, his memories, his childhood. Everything.

The newspapers and magazines seemed to love him, his infrequent visits to places where the paparazzi were allowed made him worth more than his weight in gold.

Although John and Sherlock had done nothing in particular to hide it, it seemed the papers were still oblivious to their relationship status, continuing with titles of 'asexual Sherlock' and 'young bachelor Watson'.

'John, Moriarty's back' Sherlock whispered, quickly pulling on some clothes, and switching the bedside lamp on.

John swivelled on his bed, his previously closed eyes now wide with worry. 'What?' he said, shaking his head, praying this was just a bad dream. 'Why now? It's been over 2 years for chrissake' he added, not wanting to believe that after two years of near bliss at university, now would be the time that everything changed.

John pushed the duvet away and stood up. He didn't need to change because he had fallen asleep in his clothes hours earlier, and so he set to work packing a suitcase for them both.

Sherlock noticed this, and stopped in his tracks. 'No' he said, his voice deeper and less clear than usual.

John turned, and looked into his lover's eyes. 'No, what?'

'You can't come with me' Sherlock sighed in response, wringing his hands. 'I won't put you in danger, not for this, not for anything.' He sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

John closed the distance between them in a couple of steps and grabbed Sherlock's head with both hands, pulling him forward so they would make eye contact. 'I'm coming. Wherever you go, I go, okay? I won't leave now. Not ever. If you leave without me, I'll only follow.'

Sherlock finally looked up, then away, forcing John away as he added more items into the half packed case. 'Fine' Sherlock said. 'Text Mycroft'

Fifteen minutes later, they were travelling in the back of a black car, a text 'I'm not a taxi service' suggesting Mycroft was actually sleeping for once when they contacted him.

They arrived at Holmes Manor relatively quickly, and Sherlock didn't wait for John, instead running inside, and grabbing Mycroft by the sleeve, shutting the door behind them once they had entered the study. John didn't attempt to listen or join the apparent conversation, instead flaking out on the sofa in one of the living rooms, just waiting. They seemed to be in discussion for hours, and when they finally finished, only Myc appeared in the wide doorway.

'Let's eat, John' he smiled, leading him into the smallest dining room. A new maid, still yawning and rubbing her eyes bought in the food, and was told to go back to bed soon after.

As they picked at the food on their plates, John remembered 'where's Sherlock?' he asked, panic already starting to build inside him.

'Nothing to worry about, John. He's gone to sort something out, he'll be back in a few hours.'

John blinked, pushing his chair away from the table. 'You let him go… on his _own_?' he shouted, thinking of how he could try and find Sherlock, before it was too late.

Mycroft grimaced, also standing. 'He asked me for a favour. I believe I have kept to it, and it is now time to allow you to leave. I believe he went to St. Bartholomew's hospital. There is a car waiting outside for you' he reached to shake John's hand but seemingly thought better of it, slowly lowering his hand and walking out of the room.

John rushed out of the front door and into the awaiting car, which didn't wait for instructions; apparently Mycroft really did have this planned, then.

He found himself being driven through the quickest route towards St Bartholomew's hospital. He only really knew this because he'd been offering help there for experience; all work was good at this stage.

When it pulled up to the hospital, he jumped out of the car and raced towards the entrance.

Climbing the stairs, he headed towards Molly Hooper's usual room; she'd graduated one year earlier than both John and Sherlock and was now trying to build up experience.

As he climbed the last set of steps he ran into the room; a surprised look set on Molly's face. After a quick glance around, and no explanation he ran back to the stairwell and up onto the roof.

Sherlock was standing, looking down to the pavement. He was holding his phone to his ear, clearly talking to someone. John didn't announce himself, quietly stepping forward, holding his breath.

_No, I don't need to speak to you face to face. _

_Absolutely not. Stay right where you are, Jim. _

John's eyes widened at the name. He noticed Sherlock was carrying a newspaper, and he leant forward and pulled it out of his hand, at the same time announcing his presence.

On the cover, there was a shocking image of Sherlock and John embracing, the main heading _Johnlock, hidden liars._

The description of what was inside the paper, however, was more surprising

_Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been in a homosexual relationship for almost 3 years. Mr. Holmes has recently been uncovered – the cases and stories all lies, to impress his partner, and to hide the truth? The mysterious death of DI Greg Lestrade. Continue reading pg 9._

John couldn't stop the gasp as he finished reading. They were blaming Sherlock for Greg's death? How had Mycroft allowed this to be published?!

Sherlock was still on the phone, almost finished apparently as he added 'fine, as long as everyone stays safe, goodbye'

There was a tear running down Sherlock's face and John stepped forward to brush it away, however he stopped when Sherlock raised his hand, and whispered 'don't come any closer'.

He threw his phone from the building and John frowned. What was the point of doing that?

'Sherlock…' he started, but was again hushed, Sherlock slowly turned on the ledge and faced down, towards the cars and people scurrying by below them.

'I was going to leave a note but I assumed you would follow' he said, his head turned away from John's

'Why would you leave a note, you're not going anywhere are you?' John's voice was raised, the only way to stop it from cracking, for his worries to take him over.

Sherlock chuckled at this and shook his head 'not quite in the way you imagine, I'm sure. Let me speak now, I need to do this' John gulped and nodded, not knowing what to expect.

'Jim Moriarty? He was never real. I made him up, just like the newspapers say, along with all the other cases, to impress you. I needed to do that because I needed to be sure you'd never leave me. I couldn't be on my own again. Never. And Greg? He found out.

It sounds far too convenient does it not? I hired Jim, he wasn't anyone special, but he was up for getting rid of anything that got in his way, and Lestrade came into that category. Obviously Mycroft couldn't know, I'd never get any cases if he did'

Another glimmering tear slid down Sherlock's face, and he gulped, willing himself to continue before John had the chance to speak.

'I'm a fraud. I'm no more consulting detective than anyone else.' John stopped him there, not understanding, not believing.

'No' he said, his voice loud enough for him to sound surer than he was 'no. you know things about people you have never met before. Things no one but you could know. That isn't a lie. That's just you'.

Sherlock turned and frowned at this 'it's a magic trick, John. It's just a magic trick.

I needed someone in my life, and you happened to be that person. It could have been anyone.'

John still didn't believe this, but was pissed off because Sherlock had even mentioned that.

'Oh so all the times I committed myself to you, gave myself to you, they were a lie? Just convenient because I was there? Give it a rest, Sherlock'

'I'm so sorry, John' he whispered, and he gave one last longing look, before turning to face the ledge again.

'What, no?!' john said, running towards where Sherlock was standing.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and fell forward, falling down the many stories of St Bartholomew's hospital.

John reached the ledge where Sherlock had been standing seconds earlier, and looked over.

A crumpled mess lay before him, feet below him, on the pavement. Blood was clearly seeping from various areas of the body.

John screamed, he couldn't bare to believe that the centre of his life was gone. Wiped out.

He ran down the stairs, as quickly as he could, tripping up more than twice as he went.

He ran through the already open doors, and out into the street. Pushing past the crowds, he saw what he had expected not to. Sherlock Holmes, the one man he loved, splayed across the surface, being slowly lifted onto a stretcher. No need to take a pulse, his head had clearly cracked, both legs shattered and by the looks of it, spine, broken.

John fell to the floor, his legs no longer able to support his torso.

'God, no'.


	23. Chapter 23 - Miss Morstan

'He's left me' I whispered, standing frozen by the simple gravestone, gleaming black under the rapidly deteriorating sunlight.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I didn't acknowledge it; the thought of a different Holmes brother made me feel sick.

'You could have saved him, you _should_ have saved him' I muttered through gritted teeth, and I felt the firm grip on my right shoulder falter slightly. I didn't feel guilty. Come to think of it I didn't feel anything anymore. Not that it mattered. Not now.

'I can't work miracles' Mycroft said quietly, his voice calm and deep. I blinked away the thought that I would never hear Sherlock's voice again, and I squared my shoulders, straightening my posture.

I heard a sigh, due to my lack of response, and then he spoke again, this time he was on the phone.

'Anthea? Yes, bring the car around, yes, yes, all is well'

I laughed at the normality of his conversation; _all is well_.

'If you need anything - 'I cut him off. I didn't need help from him. He could have sorted this out in the first place. 'No' I whispered, moving away slightly, and avoiding all eye contact.

Another sigh escaped the tall man's lips, and he began to walk away, moments later; he was gone.

John slowly fell to the ground, his legs unable to hold up the weight of his own body, he slid against the polished stone, his fingers feeling the intricately carved words.

_SHERLOCK HOLMES_

_A beloved brother, partner and friend_

_You were always on the side of the angels, now _

_you can join them._

John shook his head, he hated it.

Sherlock would never have wanted brother first; he always explained how his and John's relationship was the most important. Alongside his work, of course. ''he wouldn't have liked 'partner' either'' John muttered, remembering the times when Sherlock had clearly said that that term sounded '_far too old and stable for us, John'_

Not only that, but the quote. Sherlock had a habit of declaring he 'was on the side of the angels' whenever anyone told him he was doing wrong, however he didn't believe in heaven any more than John believed in fate; 'It's all bullshit' they used to shout together, laughing at the idiocy of everyone around them.

He clawed at the silver print, trying to remove the letters which made everything far too permanent.

John was raising his voice now, unaware and uncaring about the passers-by and fellow mourners who were openly staring.

The anger began to rise in his chest; 'Sherlock did this to prove a point, he didn't have to do this, he chose his work over _me_.'

He sat there, tears sliding down his face as avoided the thoughts he knew would soon come.

_Sherlock was dead. He was never coming back _

_He would never kiss Sherlock's lips_

_Never hear him talk, shout, scream._

_Never stroke his hair. _

_Never feel Sherlock's warm body against his own. _

The noises and words erupting from John merged into a sort of strangled cry, and minutes later they dissolved into hiccups and deep, gravelly breaths.

He soon completely ran out of energy to verbally communicate how he was feeling and he closed his eyes, only opening them when he felt someone lifting him from where he had been sitting.

He took note that it was a woman, yet he couldn't distinguish her facial features, or any detail of her.

A soft voice whispered in his ear 'where do you live, honey?'

John's eyes widened in terror at the question – he couldn't go back there, not yet. He certainly wasn't going to stay at Holmes Manor any longer, either.

He violently shook his head, looking manic and rather shocking to the helpful woman.

She began to stroke his head quietly calming, soothing. 'Come with me' she added, and began to pull him towards the red Ford parked on the side of the road.

John woke up in a strange large room; it smelt fresh and clean, the bed he was folded into was soft and welcoming. Next to him was a still-warm cup of tea, 2 slices of toast and some paracetamol. A small note was propped against the cup.

_At work, I'll be back by 3. Mary x_

'So Mary is the girl who –'He stopped his mutterings as realisation struck him like a brick. This woman… had picked him up from the graveyard, which he had visited after going to the pub, and in which he found himself screaming and crying for Sherlock.

'She must think I'm fucking mental' he thought.

He lifted his arm to look at his watch, 2:30pm … _Shit!_

She'd be back in half an hour, and from what John could see from the small mirror on the bedside table, _he looked a right state_.

He quickly got up and went into the adjoining bathroom, deciding in moments that a hot power shower was too good to refuse.

Moments later he was washed, and redressed in his clothes he had been wearing during the previous day's escapades. He wiped as much of the dirt as he could from his pale cardigan, until he found he was just rubbing the remnants in more.

John padded downstairs into the living room, and fell into the nearest armchair – a large square thing, of the squishy, leathery sort.

Soon enough, as predicted, he heard a key in the lock.

He stood, ready to apologise for acting the way he had yesterday, and to thank the stranger for welcoming him into her home.

She walked into the room, and John stopped, his mouth gaping.

In front of him stood the stranger, Mary.

Her dyed blonde hair was pulled into a loose bun, small strands of hair were framing her face.

Her green eyes gleamed under carefully applied mascara and eye shadow, and her full red lips were pulled into a genuine, beaming smile.

John shook his head, bringing himself out of his shock enough to smile and greet this beautiful woman.

'Mary? Hello' He said, smiling more than he had for months.

Mary grinned back, and dropped her laptop case, walking towards him.

John reached out a hand, but soon dropped it as Mary pushed it away and leaned in for a hug.

'It's so good to see you looking better, John. You'll be staying here until you feel happy again, okay? You've been in all the papers, you see' her breath tickled his ear, he inhaled, sharply.

_Of course I've been in all the papers_ John thought. He'd forgotten how popular Sherlock had become in the last few months of his life.

The last few months.

John snapped back to reality and realised why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from the embrace 'I'm sorry Miss…' John raised his eyebrows, waiting for a response.

'Oh!' she said quickly, stepping slightly further back, 'Morstan. Mary Morstan'

'Miss Morstan. I'm incredibly grateful for your generosity and kindness, but I wouldn't want to impose and outstay my welcome. I shall leave today'

'Absolutely not' she replied, crossing her arms, decided.

'Unless of course you want to talk to the flurry of reporters outside? Not everyone was going to keep quiet about your public outburst, John'

_'Ah. I hadn't thought of that.'_


	24. Chapter 24 - Umbrella

Umbrella

**Hi guys – this is slightly off plan, more Mystrade. **

**This includes a flashback, and then the present time. Which is after all the Greg hiatus. **

**I've included some quotes, which I will give sources for after I finish this fic. **

**I wanted to add how much the reviews that have been given so far mean. **

**When people say that this has moved them, or they've enjoyed it, it truly does mean so much, and inspires me to actually finish it rather than just stop. **

**So thank you, read, enjoy, and review! :-) **

The umbrella meant more to Mycroft than people thought. More than people recognised.

It had all come about a year into his and Greg's relationship.

It was the morning of their anniversary, and Mycroft couldn't contain his excitement. He rolled out of the double bed at 6am, and padded out of the large bedroom, down into the main living room.

He quietly made a pot of tea, not wanting to wake up Anna only for her to have to try to get back to sleep. It took him longer than it would for most; perfect tea was difficult, the correct temperature for it to be sipped at straight away, but not cold enough to be gulped, the right amount of milk so as to not distract from the flavour, but instead increase it, caressing it like a smooth, white ribbon, only adding to the beauty.

It was all mathematics to him, and as long as it worked, and Greg felt happy waking up next to him and a cup of tea, that was all that mattered.

He carefully tiptoed back upstairs, and sighed as the door creaked in resistance when he attempted to slowly open it. He needn't have been so hesitant. There, waiting for him in among the layers of silk sheets, lay his other half, DI Greg Lestrade.

He was grinning, and one leg was enveloped under the sheets, the other bent beneath him; his preferred way of sitting.

Greg leaned over to the opposite side of the bed, as Mycroft carefully sat down, wiping the base of the cup on his sleeve before placing it on ornate silver bed tray. He looked over suspiciously, eyes narrowed, but whatever Greg had been reaching for, was now covered in a long dark scarf.

_Two can play at that game_, he thought.

He leaned over his side of the bed, and pulled out a long thin parcel, wrapped up in a paper that would cost more than most of the gifts regular people buy. But neither of these men were regular.

Not in the slightest.

Greg leaned in, his arms now firmly behind his back. 'Happy anniversary, Myc. I love you' he pressed a small kiss against the now grinning lips. 'I have something for you' he whispered, his smile reaching his glimmering eyes.

'As do I, darling' Mycroft replied, winking back, 'mine first, if you please'

Greg rolled his eyes jokingly at this, but willingly accepted the beautifully wrapped gift that was presented to him.

He eagerly opened the wrappings and the small box, to reveal a small chain, clearly made for a man's wrist. There was a silver panel, and it took Greg a few seconds to notice it had an inscription.

_In your eyes, in your smile, I see something far more beautiful than the stars, than the universe itself. You've attacked me like a beautiful virus. Every inch of me seeks you, needs you to survive. Being together may be difficult, but nothing could be worse than being apart. I love you. _

Greg looked up, his eyes glazed with tears. He dropped the box, and, clinging onto the gift, threw his arms around Mycroft, holding onto anything he could grasp. He knew how much this meant, that his partner had finally allowed him into the heart that lay beneath the icy exterior. This wasn't a quick thought, Greg knew that it would have taken months for Mycroft to be suitably happy with what was now never going to leave his wrist.

He pulled back, and looked into his eyes. 'Thank you so much, Myc' he whispered, their noses brushing as they didn't dare drop each other's gaze. 'No matter where either of us goes, I know we'll find our way back. You're like my compass, and you're eternally tethered to my heart. I love every inch of you, and never forget that' Mycroft nodded at this, finally allowing his emotions to show.

A tear fell from his eye as he watched another fall from Greg's.

'Now' Greg sighed, a few minutes after they had both composed themselves.

'My present for you, babe' he chuckled, knowing that particular pet name annoyed Mycroft no end.

He pulled out a long, thin box. It seemed worn and tatty at the edges, as if it had been reused many times.

Mycroft frowned in wonder, and slowly unwrapped the ribbon that was binding the wood together. He slowly pulled off the lid, to reveal a long, thin umbrella.

Mycroft grinned, assuming it was a joke, and looked up, into Greg's eagerly expectant eyes.

_This isn't a joke_

'Um, thank you' he said, trying his best not to feel like a disheartened child on Christmas morning.

Greg chuckled, playfully kicking Mycroft's shin. 'Darling, take it out. I wasn't just gonna buy you a fuckin' umbrella, was I?'

Mycroft's heart leapt in hope, as he lifted out the normal looking piece of equipment. He looked at Greg expectantly, and he rolled his eyes in return, crawling over and reaching out his hand to take the present. Mycroft handed it over automatically, and he rested against the bed frame, waiting for the explanation.

Greg sat in front of him, turning the umbrella in his hand.

'This, Mycroft Sebastian Oliver Holmes, is no ordinary umbrella' Mycroft snorted at the cliché of it all.

'This… this is your father's.'

Mycroft's eyes widened, he had been sure everything had been lost, anything that his father regularly used filed away for evidence or destroyed, and he didn't know what to say. And so he said nothing, waiting for Gregory to continue.

'I adapted it a bit. The handle contains a needle, in which a drug, when injected will leave the victim in a state of paralysis, for around 6 hours. No obvious side effects. Ish

And so I will know that you are safe, when you are off gallivanting with MI6, or whatever you do'

Mycroft was about to say that he doesn't gallivant, but he was shushed.

'The ferrule, when activated, twist it to the right 24.5 times, will release a signal tracker, so if you do get in shit, I can find you.

Each rib contains a different drug, to heal various illnesses and to disinfect cuts and wounds. And so I will know that if the activator does not work, you can look after yourself for the time being.

The canopy cloth used is fire resistant, and is made out of something of mine from when I was a child. So you'll have a piece of me with you wherever you go, and I'll stop you from burning, god help us if the need arises.'

Mycroft was gulping down tears. He had given Greg his heart, but Greg had gone one step further.

He knew he couldn't change Mycroft and his profession, and he wouldn't even if he could, but it came with its risks.

'And finally' Greg continued 'there's something for you in the shaft. If I ever get in trouble –'he stopped Mycroft from interrupting 'which I might, Myc, don't deny. Even you can't keep me safe forever. If I ever get into trouble, I want you to look at, but not until then. You promise?'

Mycroft nodded, and leant forward, pressing a kiss to his lips. 'Thank you'

Mycroft ran back into Holmes Manor the moment he felt capable too. He needed to find the umbrella, the one he hadn't let out of his sight for more than a year, until today.

Greg's funeral.

He needed to see it. To see whatever Greg had left for him, and soon enough, he found the grim black object resting in its usual area by the fireplace.

He picked it up, and knelt to the floor, his knees unable to hold his body steady.

He slowly twisted the shaft of the umbrella, and found it was reasonably pliant and easy to open.

He continued until the handle fell loose into his hand, and he placed it on the floor beneath him, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and tipping the now gaping hole towards his palm.

Something heavy, and cold fell into his hand, followed by something light. He opened his eyes, and saw a crinkled, rolled up letter, and a metal object.

The circular item turned out to be an intricately carved silver box, the initials G.L and M.H stamped into the top in a lavish font.

He slowly opened the box, finding a single ring.

It was simple, only just more detailed than the everyday wedding band. A gold pattern swept its way through the ring, on the inside, small letters were printed _yours for eternity, until we meet again_.

Mycroft gazed at the beauty of it, and slowly placed it on his right ring finger, vowing to not remove it until there came the day when he had to leave this universe also.

Slowly, with shaking hands, he opened the letter.

_Darling Mycroft. _

_I suppose, if you are reading this, then the worst has come forth, and so I have had to leave you._

_And I must say now, and with my deepest regrets, my love. I am so very sorry. _

_The heart is an easy thing to wound, but remember that wrapping it up as you did previously will not protect it, only retain the hurt in which has been inflicted, and remove any chance of healing that may come about by having an open mind. Please don't hurt yourself on my behalf. _

_Sherlock once told me that you often recited 'caring is not an advantage' when you were going through the early stages of adulthood. Could you have been more wrong?_

_One day, in the future, I hope, you will kiss a man you can't breathe without and find that breathing is of little consequence. Until that day, please do not reject those who offer comfort. I love you so much, but do not dwell on what could have been. Move on. I am not asking you to forget me._

_I told you I would keep you safe, as you did me, and I know that became a lie, but I never intended so. You were hurt at the arms of others, mentally and physically, but nothing can prepare me for the time in which I hurt you more than any other can; the time I leave you and cannot return, however much either of us wishes it. And once again I must exclaim how deeply sorry I am, and how much I regret not spending the rest of my life with you. I pray to God, every day,that you will never have to read this, but if I am to die, I believe it will be to help others, and so instead of mourning me, rejoice for those that I helped survive another day._

_Sherlock will continue needing you, so please do not lock yourself away, he may not say it verbally, but you know as well as I that he relies on you more than even he can fathom. I know we were ready to deny the existence of space and time rather than admit that love might not be eternal, but to me at least, I know that however long we last, whatever we go through, I will have no regrets, and my love will continue past my last breath. _

_And that is all I have to tell you, before I leave you, as you will see it, almost alone, you need to remember that you never will be truly on your own. I will be with you, always._

_Every heart sings an incomplete song, and I hope that I filled yours with hope, and beautiful noise._

_The band, shows eternity, the amount of time we truly have together. I believe you will have already taken it upon yourself to wear this until we next meet, but please do not let it hinder you in any way. _

_I'm sure one day, when you've completed making incredible marks on the world, I will meet you in heaven, and I await that day with great joy in my heart and soul._

_I love you so incredibly much, my heart burns for you at this moment._

_I am yours, forever and always. Until we unite once more_

_Gregory Lestrade _

_x_


	25. Chapter 25 - Goodbye

**Hooray for updates, Ladies and Gentlefolk!**

**So there's a bit of a self-harm trigger warning for this chapter. **

**It's really late at night, and I don't even know if this chapter makes sense, so I apologize if it doesn't**

**Anyhoo, please enjoy (if you can) and review review reviewwwwww**

He could hear her calling his name, her pitch rising as she thumped against the locked door. But his head was swirling, swimming with colours and shapes, everything fading and merging into one. So this was what happened when you cut far too deep into your wrists with a sharp blade.

John knew exactly what was happening, he was finally a doctor, but it didn't take a qualification to work out that after about 30 minutes he will have lost too much blood. Not the most painless way of going, he thought. But it was nice to finally feel something again.

He could only just hear Mary now, she was shouting, screaming, but her voice was no more than just a wail, what she was saying was far from distinguishable now. She was far too weak to break through the door, to his relief. He didn't want her to see him like this.

Not after the progress they had made.

It had been a long while since it happened, at least it had been to everyone else. It still seemed so fresh to John that it may as well have been yesterday. But he and Mary, working together, had started to heal, started to slowly transform John back into something recognisable of the days before it happened. Not the same, never the same. Just something that wasn't a disappointment, or something that was embarrassing to everyone around.

The day John stayed at Mary's, was the day he basically moved out of 221B Baker Street. He had planned to stay for no longer than 4 days, after that time, he planned, a week, a month, 2, 3 ,4, until they both realised they were in far too deep to just continue living their lives as they had previously. So he had stayed, helped around the house, and the feelings he had felt when he first saw Mary grew stronger. The wholeness that John last felt when Sherlock was around, the youth he felt during his University days came back to him in some ways; life seemed worth living, and it was as if the earth had started turning once more.

The death anniversary came and went, only minor hitches stopped their incredible progress. Bouts of depression led John to self-harm if Mary forgot and left razor blades in the bathroom cabinet, and it was so instinctive, so natural, he hardly realised what had happened until he saw the deep gashes cut across his arms and legs.

During these periods Mary stood by him, mopping up the mess and reassuring him with kind words and light, feathery kisses. On these times, Mycroft sent him short letters, clearly an attempt to explain why he should value life. They didn't work, not usually.

_Sherlock wouldn't have wanted this for you – MH_

_Value your life more than he did his – MH_

_Be strong for Mary – MH _

After months of comfort and kind words, John agreed to go and visit Mycroft. He had known him for so long, since his college days, and it seemed only fair that they should at least part on good terms, rather than a card that was a feeble attempt to stop a slightly less depressed man from ruining his perfectly average body.

He walked in through the doors of Holmes Manor, and took a deep breath, reacquainting himself with the settings. He didn't want nor need this, but if anything it was closure.

He found Mycroft already sitting in the main living room, his clothes far more comfortable than those he would usually wear. He clearly had taken the whole day off, there was no way in hell he'd be seen out without a suit on.

'Hello, Mycroft' John whispered, sitting down on the large sofa, opposite the arm chair the tall, solemn man was lounging in.

'John' he greeted, his eyes swivelling to make eye contact, automatically flicking back to the paper he was now folding. 'Always a pleasure'.

John withheld a snort, and then thought of their situation, with a sick humour. They had both lost their soul mates, neither would move on, not properly. The only connection they had with the dead was each other. And here they were at last.

Mycroft placed his head in his hands, and sighed 'I promised Greg I wouldn't let this break me, John'

He gulped at this, surprised that his could have been brother was showing emotion, and he looked away, choosing to stare at the polished wooden floor.

'And it hasn't. It truly hasn't, I've come to terms with it. But you haven't, and you need to, because its killing me knowing what you're going through and not being able to do anything about it'

Before John could even think of saying anything, the eyes that had been watching for a response glazed over, the lips ironed into a thin, straight line. Mycroft responded 'Don't you dare, say that I don't know what it feels like. You know as much as I that I do. Sherlock and I may not have had a close relationship, but this…this wasn't what…I cared for him very much, John. You must understand that. And I have so much to tell you, but for now, I can't. And I'm so sorry, I am so very sorry'

'For what?' John mumbled, his eyes crinkling as fresh tears fell down his face.

'You know what' Mycroft replied, throwing a small box at John.

John caught it, and blinked, looking up in surprise.

'I'll tell Anna you're staying for dinner?' Mycroft said, wandering out of the room, 'I believe it's roast pork tonight, delicious'

John almost expected a jibe at his weight to escape Sherlock's lips, before realising that that would never happen, and the closest he would get was by doing them himself 'don't eat too much, Myc'

He heard a soft, sad chuckle as the iceman padded away.

John turned his gaze to the little box. It was sturdy, and he resisted the urge to shake it as an excited child would on Christmas morning. He carefully undid the wrappings, and tipped the contents into his palm.

'No' john whispered, not attempting to quieten the scream that forced itself from his lips.

He fell to the floor, clutching his head, his eyes scrunched, face distorted 'no, no, no'

Mycroft came running into the room, and he fell to the ground next to John, cupping his face in his hands. 'John, come back, come on, look at me. Look at me'. John gazed up, his eyes finally focusing on the man sitting next to him.

A tear trickled down his cheek as Mycroft pulled him into a tight hug.

'You're fine.' He whispered, stroking his head as a mother would to a child, and John realised that Mycroft was a substitute parent to Sherlock. He hadn't really had a childhood, and now he felt responsible for looking after him.

John pulled away, and wiped his eyes, looking away in embarrassment.

He picked up the object that had caused such a violent response, and tipped it into Mycroft's palm.

'What is it?' he asked John, turning it over in his hand, the cold heavy weight cooling, refreshing.

'A lighter' john whispered, realising how childish it all sounded. 'I bought it for him once, it…we had a saying, something we said to each other if either of us were stressed or upset, it always calmed us down. It's written on the inner edge of that.'

Mycroft glanced at John, hearing the emotion as his voice cracked 'may I ask what it is you used to say?' he added warily, wondering whether he should or not.

John looked down, gulping. 'Keep your eyes fixed on me. An eternity with you doesn't seem long enough, but it's a good place to start'

Mycroft nodded, remembering the times when the younger couple had arguments, and after a while were repeating this to each other, soon enough wrapped in a close embrace, an out pouring of remorse that until a few years back he had never understood. Never worked out why sentiment was so important. And the things that had finally taught the Holmes brothers how to love, were gone.

'I didn't realise he'd kept it' John added, nuzzling into the arm of his cardigan. 'This was so long ago, but fire can be helpful in so many ways if you know what to do. And he did, and I knew he'd be safer with it on his person. It sounds stupid'

'no.' Mycroft said, sitting up, and resting against the legs of the sofa. 'It sounds perfect. In every possible way. I'm sorry. I didn't realise that it meant so much'

John looked up, his eyes still swimming with tears.

'Neither did I'

John stepped out of the black car, 2 hours after he had initially stepped in it. Mycroft could be seen through the half open window, but he was gone seconds later, the moment johns hand had reached the doorbell.

He felt for the cold metal object in his pocket, and flipped it over in his hand as he waited for Mary to answer.

The door slowly creaked open, and she flew from the doorway into his arms.

She pulled back, however, when she felt no response.

'John?' she murmured, searching in his misty eyes for some sort of acknowledgement. 'Baby, what's wrong?' she said, nerves creeping up and into her voice.

John pushed past her, and walked into the flat. Their flat. He wandered into the bedroom, and quickly began to search through their medical kit, what he was looking for wasn't there.

The bathroom.

He quickly unscrewed his razor, and popped out one of the slim blades that had previously been attached.

Mary still hadn't caught up, and by the time she had, he had locked himself away. Nothing that she could do.

A tear gleamed as it made its way down his cheek, and he looked up when he heard a distant, deep voice calling his name

'John'

It sounded just like him. This was better than he had hoped.

'John'

It was definitely getting closer. When he squinted he could almost make out his lover's profile.

'John'

Surely in death, Sherlock wouldn't have that tone of voice? That was one of his … quirks… that John had hoped would be skipped.

'John'

But he wasn't dead. So why could he see and hear Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock Holmes is alive.

John tried to sit up, but the arms that were now reaching around him prevented this.

He was lifted up, and he allowed himself to be carried down to the vehicle which was waiting outside. He tried to speak 'Sh-'but he was cut off. 'Just relax, but don't go to sleep, okay?' he heard the nerves in Sherlock's voice. He really was living.

And he really thought that John was going to die.

He opened his eyes, long enough to catch a glimpse of his lover, sitting down in the vehicle next to him, still strongly gripping his hand, his eyes never leaving his gaze.

'I love you' Sherlock whispered as John closed his eyes and embraced darkness.

John woke up in an unfamiliar bed, and the rustling of bed sheets confirmed to him that he was in fact in hospital.

He opened his eyes, and found himself staring at a dull, white ceiling.

_These guys really need to consider some wall art. Anything. _

He chuckled to himself, and tried to think over what had happened. He had visited Mycroft, that much was clear, and their meeting had gone well if not to plan.

He'd received the lighter… and he had returned home, only to ignore Mary, and to –

'Mary' he whispered, his eyes widening in panic. 'Mary! Mary!' he shouted. Needed to explain, needed to apologise.

He tried to pull out the tubes that he had only just noticed were poking into him, but without success. His stress decreased when he caught scent of Mary's familiar perfume

'John, darling' she said, walking up to the bed side. 'Never do that to me again, okay?' she said, leaning down to gently kiss his lips. He tried to pull himself up as she pulled away, seeking the proximity.

'It's so lucky your friend got to you in the time he did!' Mary said, sitting down in the plastic chair by the bed. She distractedly picked at the dead flowers on his table, and flicked her hair from her eyes.

'Wait.' John said, allowing the information to sink in. 'you mean, there was someone else there?' he felt as though his heart would explode, it was beating painfully loud.

'Of course, love. Sher? Something like that, the same as you said that man you used to know was called. Come to think of it, he matched the description, the little you told of me. Not a brother?'

John ignored what she was saying as he looked over towards the swinging doors.

There, looking through the small window, was Sherlock Holmes.

They met each other's gaze, and John quickly made an excuse as to why Mary should leave 'you need a coffee, go and have a look at the shops, I'm not going anywhere'

A couple of minutes later Sherlock walked into the room. He started confidently, but as he got closer and closer towards the single bed, his stride faltered.

'John' he said, staring down at his… his what, exactly?

John grimaced, looking away. He didn't need an explanation, not now.

'You know that feeling, when all hope is lost, and then something incredible happens?'

Sherlock smiled, a tear falling onto his scarf. 'Yes. Yes, I do'

'And that feeling after, that fills you up after you've felt so numb for so long? That feeling that proves your heart wasn't completely extinguished?' John looked into Sherlock's hopeful eyes.

'I've been waiting for this moment for so long John, Yes, I know that feeling. Very well'

John gulped, rolling onto his side, away from the living, breathing miracle.

'So when will I feel it?'

The grin fell from Sherlock's face as he fell to his knees, his body, shaking with emotion.

'John?...Please? I'm back! We can get over this, together!?'

John curled himself into a smaller ball, holding his legs with his arms.

'That day. The day you fell from that roof killed me. I'm not the same, I never will be. And I want you to leave. Visiting hours are over. Please leave'

Sherlock gasped, a sob escaping from his open lips 'No, John. Let me explain…'

'There's nothing to explain, Sherlock. I've moved on, for all it will affect me, you may as well have died that day. Please don't visit again. Goodbye'


End file.
